


Balance the Force: Rogue Jedi

by Lilith Sedai (TAFKAB)



Series: Balance the Force [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Seduction, Character Death, Close Quarters, Fancy Flying, Grey Jedi, M/M, Masturbation, Political Intrigue, Sith, Undercover, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-20 17:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/Lilith%20Sedai
Summary: Outcast from the Jedi order for dabbling in the Dark Side and defying the Council, Qui-Gon Jinn seeks his purpose as a rogue. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan Kenobi seeks his knighthood.Reading order:  Galactic Gladiators, Rogue Jedi, Dark Apprentice, Uneasy Allies, Grand Master





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Some matters of particular AU: 
> 
> 1\. Qui-Gon's age - In this fic I say he's between 175-185 years old. I like the idea that Jedi live longer than regular humans, and that some species of humans live longer than others. Maybe I was just traumatized by the conclusion of TPM, and I'm overcompensating for it. 
> 
> 2\. Master Tahl's above-ground status - She's alive and Bant's her padawan and this state of affairs will continue until I say otherwise. To hell with Kit Fisto! And while we're on the subject, who the HELL aside from a slasher would name a guy Kit Fisto? And then, there's also Yarael Poof, who somehow is not supposed to be gay in spite of that. There's clearly something wrong with George Lucas's brain. 
> 
> 3\. Time frame - This fic begins sometime within a year or two after the start of TPM, and obviously Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were not the ambassadors who got sent to talk to the Trade Federation and Amidala. I say we let someone ELSE deal with the Boy Wonder and Jar Jar Binks for once. Qui-Gon's alive, and he's staying alive, and I like it that way. Cue the Bee Gees, please. 
> 
> 4\. Obviously, Obi-Wan has a new/different master - Who else but Yoda? Nobody, that's who. What, you wanted me to give him to Windu? No way. 
> 
> 5\. Siri Tachi and Satine Kryze can bite my shiny metal ass. And so can whatshername. Cerasi? And Tahl gets a tolerant pat on the head and a "Sorry, but no Jedi Master for YOU in THIS universe." 
> 
> 6\. The padawan buzz cut and dorky knight's tail are a thing of OBI-WAN'S PAST! He's passed half his trials, and there's a good reason to try to make him look a bit different-- the Council wouldn't want to deal with the bad PR of him being recognized from the pornos while he's doing missions. So I arbitrarily decree he's been allowed to grow some better hair. Think of a youngish version of AOTC Knight Obi-Wan, but with a padawan braid and haunted eyes. Let's call it the "Abandoned Senior Padawan" look.
> 
> 7\. Panaka is an enemy, not an ally, of Senator Palpatine.

Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi left the Council chamber shrouded in decorum, maintaining a polite silence that belied the excitement dominating his mind: Yoda had finally pronounced him ready for his Trials. 

Not only that, but his master had revealed a secret previously unknown to Obi-Wan: the Councilors judged he had already passed the Trials of the Flesh, Spirit, and Courage when he was only nineteen, when he had been abducted and raped daily for months, forced to fight in the arena and then to run for his life, cut off from the Force and pursued for days by malevolent men and beasts, enduring the privations of severe drug withdrawal, cold, storm, and fear, losing his master to the dark-- but emerging triumphant with little outside assistance and with his soul intact. 

The datapad he held in his hand authorized him to request Jedi Battlemaster Cin Drallig to set a Trial of Skill for Obi-Wan within the week. It would not be a simple thing to convince Master Drallig of his readiness; a confirmed master of six classic forms of lightsaber combat, Drallig already spent a considerable portion of his time either defeating Obi-Wan himself or delegating that pleasure to his frequent assistants, Master Dooku, Master Bulq, and Master Bondara. 

At the age of 27, Obi-Wan neared mastery of two lightsaber combat forms: Ataru and Soresu. Ataru he had learned from Qui-Gon Jinn and Soresu he had chosen afterward in order to balance his abilities-- to have both a means of vigorous attack and one of subtle defense. He had received considerable training in all of the seven forms except for Vaapad; Master Yoda and Qui-Gon had each discouraged him from learning a form whose power was so clearly, if subtly, linked to the Dark Side. 

Obi-Wan was aware how unusual it was for a padawan of his age, or even a young knight, to be so well-trained. He attributed his success to his extensive time at the Temple; serving as padawan to the Grand Master of the Jedi Order was very different from working with a master who spent nearly all his time in the field, as Qui-Gon had done. 

Obi-Wan's eyes dimmed, his anticipation fading with memory. He missed working with Qui-Gon Jinn. 

Since his abduction, Obi-Wan had spent the majority of his time learning from masters and instructing junior padawans. That did not mean he was untrained in the field; he had accepted many short-term missions when a master or new knight needed backup or when Yoda judged the mission would benefit from his skills and presence. 

Obi-Wan was volunteered for a great number of things and offered himself for still more. He served dozens of masters daily. While Yoda spent his time with the Council, dealing with the Senate and setting policy, Obi-Wan was busy throughout the Temple. He learned to work with nearly every personality in the Temple, absorbing the tenets of diplomacy and tact, polishing the facets of his skills to gleaming perfection. He sometimes believed that though Yoda alone had formally accepted his training bond, he had in fact been given as a padawan to all the masters who were currently active among the Jedi. 

'The perfect Jedi,' his friends called him, half-mocking and half-envious. Only Obi-Wan knew, however, the secret behind his seeming perfection: everything he did or learned, each act and mission, all the classes taught or taken, served as an earnest but inadequate attempt to fill a gulf of sorrow he held inside himself, a gulf that had opened when Qui-Gon Jinn abandoned his padawan learner and turned to the dark. 

The looks and the whispers had hurt when he returned to the Temple. People murmured about the holovids he had been forced to make; numerous Jedi had seen them, including most of his friends among the padawans, who were uncomfortable but supportive. A few of his enemies, no doubt, privately kept copies of the pornography for their own personal amusement. He took little shame in that part of his captivity; he had done as he must and he had honored his agreement with Gida. When the prisoners had touched one another, it had not been rape, at least not in its fullest sense. As a Jedi Obi-Wan could hold his head high. Let others bear the shame who deserved it: the shame of watching, willingly and without moral purpose, as such a thing was done to another Jedi was greater than the shame of having been forced to make the holos. 

What hurt worse was the gossip, both truth and speculation, about Qui-Gon Jinn. Even more Jedi had watched the holos of the carnage on Lisyl than had seen the pornographic ones. Two Dramacore troop transports, each carrying fifty men, had been burned to twisted slag by Force-lightning, and the men inside had all perished horribly. Obi-Wan had viewed the holos many times himself. The Council had required it of him as they carefully worked to piece together the events of those disastrous few days. 

Obi-Wan had also been required to testify that he had not drawn the lightning which caused the devastation-- Dramacore's propaganda laid the responsibility firmly in his lap, but it was not so. He had barely been able to feel the Force at the time. However, he could confirm having seen Qui-Gon Jinn, disguised and temporarily anonymous in his arranha handler's garb, look down on him in the irrigation ditch, then turn and walk up to the plain just before all the nine Sith hells broke loose in the sky. The correct conclusion was inescapable. 

The holos of the dead had been exquisitely accurate and thorough in their attention to detail. Dramacore had also spent a considerable period dwelling on the carnage in the city center where Obi-Wan crossed the finish line. Obi-Wan's nightmares were still haunted by the seemingly endless camera pan across dozens of mutilated dead, many of them civilian workers for Dramacore, virtual innocents who had fallen to Qui-Gon's bladework there. Airing these images, Dramacore denounced the Jedi in general and Obi-Wan Kenobi in particular as rule-breakers, murderers of innocents, tricksters, and puppets of corrupt politicians-- all while gleefully pulling in lucrative contracts with anti-Jedi concerns and advertisers from all over the galaxy. 

If there were any Jedi in the Temple who had not seen the holos of the dead, seeking to verify for themselves the truth of what Qui-Gon had done, Obi-Wan was not aware of it. 

The Jedi now spoke of Qui-Gon Jinn in hushed tones, calling him one of the Lost Twenty, and a bust of his face had been placed in the archives as a warning for all Jedi to behold. This hurt Obi-Wan most of all: he had been the catalyst that caused his own beloved master to fall to darkness. No words Qui-Gon could ever have offered to Obi-Wan would make him believe otherwise. No harm to Obi-Wan's body would ever touch him so deeply. No reward was worth that cost. He could not even understand why Qui-Gon had believed the Force demanded such a cost of him in exchange for Obi-Wan's survival, and he had never been afforded the opportunity to ask. 

Obi-Wan glided through the door to the Temple Archives and sat down at a network station. These visits had become a daily pilgrimage. Some years back he had created a 'bot to scan the news broadcasts throughout the Republic and the Outer Rim seeking news of Qui-Gon. Too often they found it. 

He opened his files. A new folder had been added by the 'bot in the night, and it bristled with stories, all a variant on a single theme: a spaceship crash had destroyed a large shipment of holographic cameras specifically contracted for Dramacore's use. The first one told him all he needed to know: "FLOUNDERING HOLO-GIANT REELS AS SHIPMENT BURNS! A cargo freighter carrying thousands of dataries worth of holographic equipment collided with an asteroid yesterday, completely destroying all cargo and killing the four-man crew. The equipment was intended for beleaguered entertainment giant Dramacore, whose recent run of bad luck has caused profits to dip, scaring shareholders and--" 

Obi-Wan closed the story, scanning quickly through the remaining files. He selected the best and filed them with similar, older stories-- "TERRORIST STRIKE DESTROYS ENTERTAINMENT MEGA-GIANT'S HEADQUARTERS ON XINUNE." "MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF DRAMACORE EXECUTIVE RUOTO MILLIM." "ROGUE JEDI BLAMED IN THEFT OF DRAMACORE HOLO VAULT PROPERTIES." They actually had what Obi-Wan believed to be real security camera footage in that one-- a blurred image caught from the shoulders down of a tall man raising one commanding hand toward the camera before the image crackled to static and flickered out. There were dozens of other incidents, each of them somehow involving Qui-Gon Jinn and his obsessive one-man crusade against the company that had kidnapped his erstwhile padawan. 

Obi-Wan saved the new stories to his personal datapad and rose, smoothly resuming his errand to Master Drallig's study to request his Trial of Skill. 

"You will resist Master Bondara, Master Bulq, Master Dooku, and then myself for five minutes each without a touch." 

"Yes, Master." It was cruel, all but impossible, but Obi-Wan Kenobi would do. There was no try. 

*****

Afterward only one Trial remained.

*************************

GLOSSARY

 _Arrêt à bon temps:_ Fencing term: A counter-attack that attempts to take advantage of an uncertain attack. (To stop in time). 

Ataru: Form IV lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

_Attaque:_ Fencing term: The initial offensive action in a fencing match. 

Chandar: Undeveloped world where the arranhar evolved and thrive in the wild. 

Chattan: Gaelic for "cat," this word is also a Scottish clan name that may be used as a first name. Qui-Gon's cat is heavily based on a Scottish Wildcat. For more information and photos, see scottishwildcats.co.uk. 

Cin Drallig: Jedi Battlemaster during the Clone Wars (and evidently for at least a short while before). See Wookieepedia. 

_Contre-parade:_ Fencing term: A parry made in the opposite line to the attack, coming around to the opposite side of the blade. 

_Dun Möch:_ A lightsaber battle technique consisting of distracting an opponent with taunts while fighting. Often employed by Sith. See Wookieepedia. 

Eekt Do'ha: A human padawan, lost on a mission, presumed dead. Now working against the Trade Federation under the auspices of former Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. 

_En garde:_ Fencing term: On guard, ready for attack. 

Jantak: A Bith Jedi Master, lost on a mission, presumed dead. Now working against the Trade Federation under the auspices of former Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.

Lisyl: Planet where Obi-Wan was chased by arranhar. 

Parry: Fencing term: To block an attack. 

Queen Ashea: King Tiran's wife and the mother of his children, joined to him in a loveless political marriage to promote peace. 

_Reprise:_ Fencing term: Renewal of an attack that missed or was parried. 

Soresu: Form III lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

_Touché:_ Fencing term: To score a touch or point with an attack. 

Vaapad: Form VII Lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

Velon: City on Xinune where Qui-Gon Jinn holds property (the estate known as the Palazzo, deeded to him by King Tiran) and resides between attacks on Dramacore. 

Yielding Parry: Fencing term: Deflecting the incoming attack by maintaining contact with the blade and changing the point of contact between the blades, moving from a position of poor leverage to one using the forte for strong leverage.


	2. The Trial

"Test you sorely, your Trials have, and yet will," Yoda warned, his eyelids sunk low, his eyes gleaming slits as he regarded his apprentice. The harsh evening light flooding through the Council chamber cast deep shadows over his wizened face, and Obi-Wan thought he looked particularly worn. The news, now two cycles old, of the Sith's return had been a grievous burden on him. Obi-Wan knew he spent much of his time now in deep meditation, questing the currents of the Force, seeking the Sith master without success. "But fitting it is, that you are ready at this moment." Yoda's eyes snapped open and he gestured with his gimer stick. "Unfinished business you have, and all Jedi have an interest in this." 

"Chancellor Palpatine spoke of his concern to me only today. There has been another attack." Mace Windu steepled his fingers. "But you are aware of this." 

"I have followed current events relating to the attacks on Dramacore for some time." Obi-Wan stood perfectly still. "Though it escapes me why the Chancellor should be so vitally concerned with the fortunes of an entertainment company." 

"It is of great concern to all of us, the Council and the Senate alike. You know these attacks are not simply random or anonymous. They are linked to us, and so they undermine the reputation of the Jedi. They reduce our credibility and create problems for our field operatives." Mace sat back. "Dramacore capitalizes on this in their news broadcasts. Citizens of the Republic often don't make the distinction between the Jedi Order and rogues like Qui-Gon Jinn, and the Sith will be quick to use this as a weapon. Destroying the public image of the Jedi, destroying the respect we have earned over millennia... that will be one of their many tactics in their quest to gain power." 

"Qui-Gon Jinn is no Sith," Obi-Wan returned, keeping his tones smooth and even. It took an effort. 

"So sure, are you?" Yoda's ears turned downward. 

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment, then nodded curtly. "I am." 

"The Council is not." Windu leaned forward. "Qui-Gon Jinn is a known Dark Jedi, one of the Lost Twenty, and this makes him an ideal candidate to be the Sith master-- or to become a new Sith apprentice. Your Trial of Insight will be to resolve this mystery, Obi-Wan. Find out what Qui-Gon Jinn is and isn't. Bring him out into the light so we can neutralize him." 

Obi-Wan understood the euphemism fully. "Return him to Coruscant for imprisonment and reconditioning, you mean." 

Windu nodded with exaggerated politeness, granting Obi-Wan his point. 

"Your feelings on this matter are not clear," Eeth Koth commented, cool as a winter breeze. "They must be resolved before you will be knighted." 

"My feelings are quite clear, Master," Obi-Wan protested, making a quarter turn to face the Councilor and keeping his voice mild. "They merely disagree with your own." 

"In disagreement truth is often sought and found." Yoda rapped his stick on the floor. "Truth we ask for, and resolution. Not agreement." 

"I understand, my master." Obi-Wan bowed low. "I will seek this truth as you command." 

"May the Force be with you, padawan." Yoda inclined his head, dismissing Obi-Wan, who returned the bow and walked out. 

Obi-Wan went to his quarters to prepare for departure, packing carefully. He had never moved in with Yoda, disliking the Dagobahn environmental simulation the old master preferred; he still lived in the padawan quarters in Qui-Gon's old suite-- half home, half shrine to the master he had lost eight years past. 

He assembled a standard field kit-- spare robes and civilian garb, an extra power cell for his lightsaber, a swimming gill, a datapad, and his communicator. After a moment's hesitation he reached out to the shelf on his desk and his hand closed around the stone that lay there. He hefted it in his hand, feeling its warmth. The room was dim, and the red veins in the stone's center were not visible, but if he shut his eyes he could almost feel the comforting serenity and calm of the Qui-Gon Jinn he had once known, who had given the stone to him on his thirteenth birthday. 

He tucked the stone in his pack and zipped it up, then stepped out and across the hall, touching the trigger circuit of Qui-Gon's door with his palm. 

Obi-Wan had left Qui-Gon's room as it was but continued to use the common room and the 'fresher; the common rooms bore the imprint of his personality and his belongings blended with those Qui-Gon had abandoned. 

He rarely went inside his master's rooms, and even today he found himself hesitating at the door. Qui-Gon's cloaks and tunics still hung tidily in the closet. His journals and a few mementos were arranged sparsely on the shelves. The bed was neatly made and a desk chair had been left half-pulled-out as though Qui-Gon would return shortly to sit down and turn his attention to the comm panel. 

Obi-Wan would meditate in here tonight to prepare himself for the Trial to come. 

A chime at the door made him jump and he retreated, sealing up the abandoned room. 

Yoda awaited outside, looking up at him with the faintest hint of discontent in his expression, his lips slightly pursed. 

"Come in, Master." Obi-Wan politely drew out the cushion Yoda preferred. He folded his legs and sank to the floor next to it to spare Yoda from craning his neck. 

"Thank you, padawan." Yoda was unusually quiet as he maneuvered himself into a comfortable position. "Better, that is." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and straightening his robes-- if Obi-Wan hadn't known better he might have thought Yoda was stalling for time. 

"Perceptive, you are." One eye shot open. "Good." Yoda laid his stick across his lap and cleared his throat as though preparing to lecture. "Cloudy is the Unifying Force and the future is unclear." 

It was a familiar sentiment, one Obi-Wan had heard all too often lately. "The influence of the Sith," he volunteered. 

"A problem, they are. Responsible for it they may be. A different problem is Qui-Gon Jinn." Yoda's ear-tips swung forward, and Obi-Wan suppressed a smile. 

"So sure, are you?" he dared, and Yoda scoffed, swinging the stick and striking Obi-Wan's thigh in mild reproof. 

"Not fitting, for a padawan to mock his master." But his ear-tips rose and his eyes twinkled behind his pursed mouth. "Not my choosing, were your Trials." Obi-Wan waited, listening patiently, as Yoda resettled himself. "Much there is in this choice that troubles me." 

Obi-Wan drew up his knee and rested his chin on it. "I don't understand. Qui-Gon was darkened, not I. I don't understand how I will be required to exercise insight." 

"Darkness is inside all of us. A part of the Force it is. A part we must confront and control." Yoda sighed. "Unsettled is the Council. Disagreement may bring truth, but only if truth is sought. Not if belief remains unquestioned." He eyed Obi-Wan shrewdly. "Those there are, upon the Council, who no longer question what they are told. Voices there are, within the Senate, who say much I do not believe." 

Obi-Wan remained very still, astonished by Yoda's unexpected revelations and awaiting his master's explanation. 

"You must take care, Obi-Wan." Yoda looked at him soberly. "Mistakes, the Council has made. Even before we chose to deal with Dramacore and left Qui-Gon Jinn to arrange your rescue. Fear confuses minds, clouds judgment, even for a Jedi. Disturbed, I am, at choices made. Dismayed to see wisdom falter. Dark times ahead, I feel." 

Obi-Wan considered. "You believe the Council has made a mistake in sending me after Qui-Gon for my Trials." 

"Not in the chosen Trial is the mistake, but in the reason for the choosing." Yoda sighed. "Master Windu sees much. If a weakness he perceives, that weakness he will exploit." Yoda shook his head, staring at his feet, then looked up gravely. 

"Too much I have said, Obi-Wan. Keep silent and be mindful." 

"Yes, master." Obi-Wan hesitated. "I do not believe Qui-Gon Jinn will harm me." 

Yoda chuckled at that, his ear-tips high, his eyes gleaming. "Know, you do, what happens when you assume, I think." He raised his stick and poked it firmly into the center of Obi-Wan's chest. "But face Qui-Gon you must, learn the truth of him, and come to terms with what lies between you, if you would pass your Trials." He hoisted himself upright, his momentarily sober mood fading. "You will be busy this evening. Do not forget to meditate." 

"Yes, master." Obi-Wan escorted him to the door. "I thank you, master." 

Yoda paused, looking over his shoulder as if he would like to speak, but whatever remark he might have made did not pass his lips. He firmed his jaw instead. "May the Force be with you, padawan. Pass your Trials and return to me." He shuffled away purposefully. 

Obi-Wan had barely closed the door before the entry chime sounded again. 

"Master Tahl!" Obi-Wan bowed low; of course Yoda had been right to warn him. "I was about to seek you. Please, sit down." 

"Padawan Kenobi." She stepped into the room, walking without hesitation to the sofa and seating herself. "I thought you might." She drew a datapad out of her pocket. "I'll spare you the effort of working up to a polite inquiry. What you want is here." 

"Thank you, Master Tahl." Obi-Wan bowed humbly, letting her hear his voice from the level of his knees. "It seems word travels fast." 

"Your Trials are the only topic on the lips of every padawan on Coruscant and most of the knights and masters gossip, also." She sat effortlessly erect, still holding the datapad, lovely and poised. Ever since he met her she had made Obi-Wan feel awkward, as if all his joints were elbows, as if he had a stain on his tunic. He had never dared ask her how she moved with such unerring grace, whether the Force gave her sight of a sort, or whether she simply listened to it and successfully ignored the possibility of ever colliding with anything out of place. 

Obi-Wan chuckled ruefully. "I'm not surprised." 

"You've been watching Qui-Gon." She pressed their business forward smoothly. "I've observed your queries to the database. They match many of my own, of course. But you might have come to me for assistance with more sophisticated research methods." Her lips curled upward with private amusement. 

"You have more information?" 

"Considerably." Tahl smiled very slightly. "I have spoken to Qui-Gon since he left the Jedi." 

Obi-Wan felt a flare of something dark and bitter in his heart and stamped on it ruthlessly. "This is, indeed, a research result I have been unable to duplicate." 

"It was long ago and only once." She laced her fingers, her face calm. "He contacted me to inquire after your recovery. I assured him it was complete." 

"I thank you." Obi-Wan bowed again. "And I trust your estimate was not in error." 

"I traced his communication to Xinune." She tapped at the datapad. "To be specific, I pinpointed its source as a summer palace once frequented by King Tabare, now apparently relinquished by Prince (and later King) Tiran. Though it is supposedly unused, this palace has a full complement of staff and is maintained scrupulously. Ships come and go from its private landing pad; its facilities have been regularly brought up to the latest standard of electronics technology. There are frequent and irregular take-offs and landings from the private pad. The pattern of arrivals and departures roughly corresponds, in nearly every case, with an act of sabotage against the Dramacore company and its subsidiaries, in keeping with estimates for travel to and from Xinune from the site of the sabotage. This excepts, of course, attacks that occurred close together; in that case, sometimes several sabotages occur between each departure and return. 

"The locals who work on the estate speak of the man who is the new lord over the palace; they describe him as long-haired and tall, silent, with a distinctive pattern of white hair at his temples; they call him 'Lord Jinn.' They say the King has given him the facility and that in return he performs certain services at the King's request. None know what those services may be." 

Obi-Wan stared at her, realized his chin was sagging with disbelief, and closed his mouth. 

"You've known this--" 

"For almost seven years." Her quiet gaze challenged him. "I have spoken of it to no one, not even Bant. The time is ripe now for you to know as well." 

"Master Tahl--" 

"Qui-Gon Jinn and I fell in love before we were knighted." She interrupted him, her smooth, cool voice silencing his thanks, and he tried not to squirm with discomfort. Again a flicker of glowing jealousy threatened to ignite within him, and again he quenched it. "This is discouraged, though not forbidden. We might have coupled and raised children, but through decades we cherished one another without touching, as the Force led us. I know you know of this." Her voice took on a brief, dry tone. "Padawans will gossip, especially among friends." 

"We meant no harm, Master Tahl." Obi-Wan blushed, contrite. 

"None was done, Padawan Kenobi." She rose, moving about the room, her delicate fingertips touching the rough texture of a woven sisal hanging on the wall, the chill of a transparisteel window, and the exotic grain of a stained wooden shelf. 

"I tell no one's secrets but my own in this," she spoke at last. "They are mine to tell." Her gaze pierced him, even sightless. "Fear of losing me was never enough to unbalance Qui-Gon Jinn." Her voice was soft as velvet. "I was wounded, blinded, nearly killed, and he remained serene. This you saw yourself." She held her head high, but Obi-Wan's breath caught with sympathy. He could guess the cost to her pride. 

She continued after a moment, voice cool and composed. "When he left the Jedi I wept for his loss, but I did not seek him out." She held her back perfectly straight. "I understood it was not mine to do. By then I knew he was never mine." 

The room throbbed with the import of the words she did not say. Obi-Wan's heart leaped so hard he could feel it pounding in his chest, so hard he could nearly hear it. He swallowed thickly, desperate to ask precisely what she meant, but he sensed she would not speak more clearly. 

"For the love of Qui-Gon Jinn, I wish you success with your Trials, Obi-Wan Kenobi." She stepped forward and set her datapad in his hand. 

"Thank you, master," Obi-Wan managed to whisper as she glided out. 

Tahl's visit gave Obi-Wan a direction he had badly needed; he settled himself at the comm panel and began making arrangements for transport and building a cover story. He had hardly finished when the door chimed again and he rolled his eyes a little, thinking of Master Yoda, who'd been right in predicting his busy evening. 

"Master Windu!" Obi-Wan could not keep a note of surprise out of his voice when the opening door revealed the identity of his guest. "I'm honored. Please, come in." 

Windu did, his eyes scanning the room keenly, and Obi-Wan fought the urge to dig a toe into the carpet and squirm like a ten-year-old initiate as the man rapidly noted and catalogued the way Qui-Gon's things still dominated the rooms where Obi-Wan had chosen to live after his master fell to the dark. 

"Obi-Wan." Windu greeted him politely; his mouth smiled, but his dark eyes did not. "I'm sorry to disturb you at such a busy time, a time you should devote to contemplation." 

"It's no trouble." Obi-Wan felt even more uncomfortable with Windu's visit than he had with Tahl's, and tried to cover his nervousness with courtesy. "Shall I make you some tea?" 

"No, thank you. I won't stay long." Windu took a seat uninvited, crossing his long legs at the ankles and surveying Obi-Wan intently. "I wanted to emphasize the importance of your mission-- not just to you personally, but to the Order." 

Obi-Wan wished Windu had accepted the offer of tea; it would have given him something to do rather than sit awkwardly, listening to Windu drop pearls of wisdom as if Obi-Wan were still a student in a lecture. He took a seat opposite the Councilor, reminding himself that this was his own home and that he should not be the one to feel ill at ease here. 

"Qui-Gon's actions are causing more harm than you can calculate," Mace began without preamble. "The galaxy is changing, Obi-Wan. New powers are rising within the Republic. You know of the Trade Federation-- you've dealt with them yourself more than once. Dramacore is just another part of the same pattern. As the galactic economy thrives, companies and affiliates such as these thrive with it." 

Obi-Wan nodded noncommittally; even younglings were taught basic economics. 

"To stay relevant in these changing times the Jedi must work to guide these powers to act responsibly, and ultimately I believe we must ally with them if we are to guide them effectively and if we are to use them to help resist the Sith." Windu leaned forward, intense. "We can do neither if we attack them, if we continue to polarize them against us as Qui-Gon does." 

Obi-Wan blinked. "The Senate has always directed the Jedi in our interactions with corporate interests. If we abandon our neutrality--" 

Windu's eyes narrowed and Obi-Wan broke off. "This is the Senate's will, Obi-Wan: the attacks must stop." 

Obi-Wan considered the Councilor's words with grave care. They troubled him deeply, but he did not speak. 

Windu sighed, shaking his head, some of his intensity seeming to fade. Obi-Wan sensed it lingering beneath the surface of Windu's thoughts, keen and coiled and watchful. "There are always those who cannot adapt to change, those who cling stubbornly to tradition. They reject progress for its own sake, but as the world moves forward, their ideas will no longer hold sway. If they don't yield, they must be swept aside. Change comes at a cost. It is the way of the Force." The words were deceptively mild, but at their core, Obi-Wan perceived an unspoken threat. 

"The reward must always be sufficient for the cost," he whispered, quoting Qui-Gon. 

"Precisely!" Windu slapped his palms on his knees, pleased. "We stand at a terrible crossroads, Obi-Wan. Down one path I foresee war: bitter, costly, and wasteful. Down the other... I see compromise, and with it, hope. That future will only come to pass, Obi-Wan, if the Jedi stop fighting these changes, embrace them, and move forward, guiding the new leadership from a position of friendship rather than conflict. That's why your Trial is so important. Position yourself properly as a new knight now, and your work will create a time of peace and prosperity in the galaxy. You can help to bring about a new era of leadership for the Jedi Order." 

The carrot and the stick-- first the threat, then the promise. 

"I will meditate on this," Obi-Wan offered, but he remembered Master Yoda's warning. What weakness was Windu seeking to exploit in him? 

"I'll leave you to it." Windu rose, outwardly cordial, and reached for Obi-Wan's hand. "May the Force be with you, Kenobi." 

He strode out and Obi-Wan's quarters were left peaceful at last, though his heart was not. 

Sighing, Obi-Wan took his pack and went into Qui-Gon's abandoned rooms, where he sank to his knees to meditate and prepare his mind for his Trials. He would have plenty of time to review Tahl's notes during the voyage to Xinune. 

*****

Obi-Wan lifted his face to the sun, glad to escape the stifling recycled atmosphere on shipboard. The fresh air smelled sweet and crisp; autumn had come to this hemisphere of Xinune already and the trees were fringed with the colors of fire. 

Far from King Tiran's palace in Takat, Velon was less developed and more rural. Fields of ripe vinefruit and grain stretched across the inland side of the city, nestled in hollows between pleasant rolling hills. A cloud glided across the sun, sparking a chill that shivered down Obi-Wan's spine. 

On the ocean side,the royal Palazzo dominated the city, gracefully positioned atop a natural marble ridge that curled out into the bay, creating a sheltered harbor where pleasure boats skimmed the waters, white sails full. Obi-Wan had no attention to spare for them, though; he had eyes only for the Palazzo, which Qui-Gon Jinn now called home. 

Both his senses and Tahl's briefing confirmed that the master of the house was not at home. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if this was more of a relief or more of a disappointment. The Palazzo was stunning. It must be large enough to house a hundred families or more. He could not reconcile the lush, carefully tended gardens, the pale stone arches and red tile roofs, the hundreds of windows, and the seemingly endless halls stretched out along the ridge, with the austere and unencumbered master he had known. The place must rely on battalions of servants: cleaners, gardeners, maintenance personnel, cooks-- all for one man! 

He trotted down toward the city, where he planned to make his next contact. Tahl's briefing suggested men with mechanical and technological skills were always in demand at the Palazzo, needed for upgrading, repairing, or maintaining the facilities there. He was prepared with letters that vouched for his skills and character and carried a bag on his hip filled with miniature surveillance cameras, carefully Force-shielded. He had brought two dozen, not nearly enough now that he saw the size of the place. 

He did not let grass grow under his heels, swiftly locating the employment agency. Among the positions advertised was one for a technician in heating, cooling, and ventilation; it sounded ideal for deploying his surveillance devices. 

"You can start this afternoon, if you want," the agent said. "Lord Jinn likes us to work on things like this while he's away. It doesn't disturb his affairs and he doesn't disturb ours." He pushed a work chitty and a key card across the desk to Obi-Wan. "Take public transit up to the palace and tell the gate guard you're to report to G-section. He'll direct you in. G-section is covering second shift today. You'll be just in time to join them." 

"Thank you, sir." Obi-Wan accepted the items and did as he was told. 

The G-section manager was a small, rotund human, ill-shaven, his blue coverall stained with sweat and grease. He had a permanent, harried-looking expression of amiable overwork. He provided Obi-Wan with a coverall and a toolkit, and shortly Obi-Wan found himself standing in the kitchen gardens behind the Palazzo. The overpowering, sweet scent of tall white lilies gathered thick and cloying in his nostrils as he listened to small pollinator insects buzzing and studied a complicated ductwork schema. 

"The humidity from the ocean and the heat from the mainland come together right here, so his place grows mold and mildew like hell," his new boss commented, explaining the job to the few new crewmen, Obi-Wan included. "It's worse because we don't run the ventilators consistently. While they're off, the coolant stagnates and moisture condenses on all the fittings. Then when Lord Jinn comes home the maids turn on the compressors and they blow mold spores and everything else all over. Then he has to hire people to spray down the clothes and furnishings with fungicide and he has to have everything shipped out and cleaned. He doesn't like that. Says it spoils the living something-or-other." He chuckled wryly. "It'd spoil about anything living in the quantities it takes to fumigate this place." He looked up, including all his men in his stare. "So this time we're supposed to stop it before it starts. We expect Lord Jinn to arrive tomorrow, so today we have to wipe down all the cooling units and conduits, replace the filters, and test the system. 

"You three--" he pointed to Obi-Wan and two other young men "--look young and you're not too bulky. The conduits in Lord Jinn's private living areas are the newest, and they're the most compact. I'll need you to do those with me. The rest of you break up into teams. Team A take the west wing." He gestured at the schema. "Team B, you get the east. Team C, center and entertainment areas. D, you take conservatory and outbuildings." 

They broke up and went to work-- a process that involved lengthy foot travel through the Palazzo to their assigned areas. Obi-Wan took advantage of the opportunity to stare, filling his mind with details of lavish parlors, cavernous banqueting rooms, and decadent guest bedrooms. The sparkling modern kitchens and sumptuous marble baths astonished him. Everywhere he looked he saw evidence of wealth and luxury, overwhelming and lush. Walls were covered with tapestries, floors with mosaics of tile and gilt. Rooms were stuffed to bursting with oil paintings, solid hand-worked wooden furniture with velvet upholstery, entertainment centers, game facilities, and books. They passed through atriums of cascading ferns and vines, indoor fountains trickling softly through them, feeding into pools where exotic fish swam, flashing their silver bellies. Tall glazed windows in every wall admitted floods of light. 

Qui-Gon's private rooms were furnished in a more casual taste, but were still exquisite. He lived in the central area of the house above the entertainment floors on the highest level. As the workers ascended the curving marble stair, Obi-Wan's boots, carefully covered in protective cloth sheaths, sank deep into a lush runner of carpet. The ceiling was constructed of vaulted glass and tropical plants had been tucked into every nook and cranny, succulent foliage giving the impression of a tamed jungle, dozens of orchids spilling sprays of glorious blossom at artfully selected intervals. 

Qui-Gon regularly used more than a dozen rooms, Obi-Wan learned-- rooms full of comfortable overstuffed furniture upholstered in leather with wood fireplaces in the walls. His rooms housed an incredible proliferation of bookshelves, overloaded to groaning with real paper books, for which he knew Qui-Gon had always entertained a weakness. On this floor were eight wide beds in bedrooms with an acre of floor, piled deeply with silk-covered pillows and down-filled coverlets. 

While his hands were still clean, Obi-Wan pressed his palm to test the welcome of one inviting-looking pillow, which yielded with the softest sigh, light and warm and luxuriant. He wryly remembered Qui-Gon's former disdain for such things: the simple pallet he had once preferred, wrapping up in his cloak on the floor rather than indulge such luxuries. The books he understood more readily. Standing in a library, inhaling the musty spices of dust and books, surrounded by trailing leaves of potted plants, he felt more of Qui-Gon's presence than he had sensed than anywhere else in the place. 

They went to work swiftly, swarming up ladders and into ducts to accomplish their cleaning tasks-- activity that afforded Obi-Wan an excellent, discreet opportunity to place his surveillance devices. He let the Force guide him-- one here, one there. In the master bedroom, next to the comm array and holochron generator, in a study, in a meeting room, along selected pieces of corridor. 

"You're a fast worker!" Obi-Wan's boss complimented him. "We'll finish early." He tapped at his scheduler. "It's a good thing, too. Lord Jinn's radioed ahead; he's arriving early." 

Obi-Wan suppressed a flicker of mingled anxiety and anticipation, checking again to be sure that his presence was shielded. It would not do to feel an emotion strong enough to leave a lasting impression on the Force while he was here. 

"You two go to the control room and check all the circuits." He dismissed his other helpers, smirking. "We'll hit the playroom last, then fire up the system for him." He cut his eyes at Obi-Wan, amusement devilish on his face. "You'll get a kick out of this, I promise." 

Obi-Wan projected casual indifference. "I thought the lord would be too busy for play." 

"Nobody's too busy for this kind of playroom." His boss laughed. "He does well enough for himself, I'd say. You'll see!" 

So saying, he keyed a discreet door in the master bedroom. A section of wall swung inward and they stepped through into a small chamber-- for once, one with no windows-- that might have been a lavish walk-in closet at one time in its existence but now was lined with every possible variety of erotic toy. 

Obi-Wan's eyes popped with disbelief. 

"Don't tell me you're a prude." The boss laughed. "Look at you blush!" 

Obi-Wan hastily reached for serenity. It had been a long while since he felt so unsettled, but the sight of neat rows of anal insertion toys, whips and floggers, harnesses and straps, skin stimulators, vibrators, clamps and clips, and a variety of items about whose functions he had not even an inkling of an idea.... 

"Can you imagine what he gets up to with all this? And King Tiran with him-- everyone knows the man's as queer as a five-legged calf, including the Queen. Everyone knows about the clubbing and some of us have seen the porn holos. He's here more often than he's in Takat these days now that Queen Ashea is finally delivered and he has an heir and a spare." 

Obi-Wan flinched, carefully setting a turmoil of conflicting emotion aside. "No, I don't think I can imagine," he answered honestly. He resisted the urge to touch anything, then tried not to tuck his hands in his pockets like a naughty initiate caught sneaking sweets in the kitchens. He could hardly process the information he was being asked to assimilate. Qui-Gon using a room like this with _Tiran?_ Was that what Tahl had actually meant when she said Qui-Gon wasn't hers? 

Without allowing himself to think too closely about what he was doing, Obi-Wan palmed one of his surveillance devices and moved swiftly to seal the flat, transparent gel to the bottom of a shelf while his boss was half-turned away, gesturing expansively at something that looked like a piece of gymnastic equipment with a dildo built right into the seat. "The cleaning crews say it all gets used, regular." 

"Does it?" Obi-Wan answered lightly, feeling absurdly as if he were making small talk at an uncomfortable diplomatic reception. Not to be overlooked due to his scattered emotions, he also had to worry about the matter of the holos and his own exposure in them. Evidently black market copies were more widely known on Xinune than he would have liked. He'd hoped he wouldn't be recognized; the holos had been kept from general release there thanks to King Tabare's intervention. Also he was older now and his body had matured, filling out and building muscle. The Council had allowed him to grow out his hair and also a short beard, the better to change his features, but he still wore a padawan braid. Perhaps he should have requested permission to cut it. 

"They say Lord Jinn used to be a Jedi. Got himself thrown out for his perversions, I'd say." Obi-Wan's boss elbowed him jovially. 

"If he used to be a Jedi it might not be too wise to think that kind of thought out loud." Even as Obi-Wan spoke the Force stirred. Reaching out he sensed the rippling stretch and sudden coalescing aura of a presence, the familiar feel of a consciousness emerging from hyperspace. "We might want to get out of here before he returns, too. You said he was coming early?" 

"You're a wise man. Let's grab the ladder." 

Obi-Wan nodded, retracting his cautious probe and trying to seal himself inside his own mind. He had felt too many emotions in here; it left a residual curl of himself imprinted on the Force. But Qui-Gon had never been prone to listen to the Unifying Force, where Obi-Wan's talents were strongest and where his presence would resonate most fully. He would have to hope that old habit of his master's had lingered. 

They wiped down the cooling conduits and re-installed the ceiling panel. Then after a bit of judicious influence from Obi-Wan, they departed in haste. Qui-Gon was making no attempt to shield and his planetfall was imminent. 

They stepped out into the garden, Obi-Wan's eyes tracking up to the horizon, where a growing speck revealed Qui-Gon's ship approaching, sedately and properly maintaining a speed below the sound barrier-- probably out of consideration for all the antique glazing in the Palazzo. Obi-Wan kept his respiratory system in check, refusing to allow his heart to speed as they trotted across the grass to the outbuilding that housed the physical plant. His boss started the environmental control systems for the area they had finished. 

"We're well out of there." Obi-Wan noticed a trace of sweat on the man's head despite his earlier insouciance. "The other crews won't trouble him; he doesn't go into the east or west wings unless he's entertaining. But he wouldn't have liked to find us in his living space." 

Obi-Wan could not resist glancing out the dusty, smudged window up toward the landing pad. The ship rotated, aligning itself, and set down gracefully with a whisper of contact. Then he heard the rather louder clunk of the magnetic clamps on the landing gear engaging and a whine of servomotors as the ramp came down. 

Obi-Wan held his breath, awaiting a sight he had not seen for eight years. He locked down firmly on his shields as heavy boots appeared on the ramp: Qui-Gon Jinn's old familiar ambling pace, half-lazy and half-graceful, the slight slouch to the shoulders, his dark hair still accented with streaks of white from the damage done by the Force lightning he had channeled on Lisyl. 

Qui-Gon wore an elegant, crisply cut jumpsuit, dark green with restrained brown piping at the shoulders, a well-made brown belt and boots of supple leather, and a brown cloak of crushed velvet. It rippled in the exhaust from the engines as he turned and called back up the ramp, momentarily obscuring his form. A companion? 

Tiran emerged dressed in a similar jumpsuit of sober dark grey, and Qui-Gon clapped his shoulders familiarly, the two of them sharing a smile. They went inside, Qui-Gon's palm lingering on Tiran's shoulder. 

Obi-Wan stood very still, as if the slightest motion would betray his presence to the Force. 

"Lord Jinn and the king," his boss said quietly at his shoulder. "Thick as thieves, aren't they? The systems are working. Let's see how the others are getting along."

Obi-Wan had no desire to re-enter the Palazzo with Qui-Gon in residence, but he could hardly wander the gardens alone, so he obeyed. He was relieved when they avoided the main corridors and kept to the servants' areas, and he longed for their tasks to be completed so they could take their transit back down into the city. 

By the time the work crews departed, the pleasure boats were seeking their berths, sails falling and furling, and the sun touched the wide sea, drawing a path of molten gold along the bay. Obi-Wan left his temporary co-workers and sought a lodging in a hostel well away from the Palazzo, operating on the theory that distance would render his presence less noticeable than proximity. 

Once settled he drew out the electronic array that drove his cameras and activated it. Each device he had placed was functioning, a row of green blips on his screen, each transmitting its information to be recorded. Empty room after empty room showed up on the console as he flipped through them, but at last the master bedroom camera rewarded his search. 

Qui-Gon and Tiran were sitting down to supper at a table on the terrace, visible through the window, their conversation inaudible. 

Obi-Wan left the array to record the proceedings and went to seek food for himself. He badly needed a few moments to regroup; seeing Qui-Gon again had shaken him. 

He had thought he was coping much better than this. He had thought that his sense of abandonment had been mostly healed by his relationship with Master Yoda and his connections to so many other Jedi in the Temple. He had thought his pain over his old master was long dead inside him. 

He'd been wrong. 

Seeing Qui-Gon had bared wounds that were only buried, not healed, and now they throbbed afresh. If not for Qui-Gon's persistent pursuit of Dramacore the man would seem to have no concern whatsoever for the half-trained apprentice he'd left behind. 

Obi-Wan had been badly damaged in body and soul, and only one of those had been swift to heal. The soul-healers attributed much of his misery to the rapes and near-rapes he'd endured, but Obi-Wan had always known that was only his body. The hurts to his mind and spirit went far deeper: all the way down to the raw and empty place inside him where he and his master used to share their training bond. That corner of his soul had become a shrine to Qui-Gon's memory: a place of silence and shattered love, shrouded in grief and confusion. 

Well, the Trials were not supposed to be easy. He thought ruefully of Yoda saying the nature of his Trials had been chosen accurately, though perhaps for the wrong reasons. Yoda had known, as he always did. And Windu? The man had an uncanny knack for knowing precisely how to break an opponent. Had he thought Qui-Gon would break Obi-Wan, or vice versa? 

It remained to be seen. 

At least he wasn't still in love with the man, he consoled himself. Instead of love, all he had felt for Qui-Gon for many years now was emptiness, occasional flares of jealousy toward those who had mattered more to Qui-Gon than he did, and a faint, bitter sorrow. It was best that way. 

He stared down at the plate of stew he had obtained from the proprietor of his lodging; he had eaten half without tasting it. He dipped listlessly at the rest with a chunk of bread. He would have to go back up and monitor the cameras while waiting for the Force to guide him to his next action. 

He finished the bowl and paid, then climbed reluctantly up the stair. He really didn't have the stomach to watch Qui-Gon have sex with Tiran, he decided. Tiran had been a friend and also a good man to have at your back, but whatever he and Qui-Gon might do in bed together was something Obi-Wan had no desire to see. 

Dawdle as he might, there were only twelve steps up to the second floor and eventually Obi-Wan could delay arrival at his room no longer. He entered and scanned the computer array; noise from the master bedroom indicated that Qui-Gon was bathing. Obi-Wan seated himself on the dingy coverlet of his lumpy bed and prepared to wait. At least the room was empty; it seemed Qui-Gon was sleeping alone. 

Soon Qui-Gon emerged, still damp from his bath. The video pick-up caught him and swiveled to follow. His hair was wet, wrapped lazily in a white towel, and he wore an absorbent white robe that hung open and loose around his long, angular body. 

Obi-Wan abruptly found it necessary to carefully re-adjust the strap of his left boot, which was still fastened tolerably well but must of course not be allowed to come loose. When he looked back up Qui-Gon was seated, the towel puddled on the carpet. He sat running a brush through his long hair, slowly coaxing it into submission. 

_I used to do that,_ Obi-Wan remembered, his throat suddenly thick, the sensations as fresh in his mind as if he had last performed the familiar duty yesterday. _Start at the ends and work up. Comb back at the crown. Brush, lifting the strands and letting them fall, until dry. Pull back the top, smooth the sides, and bind off with a thong._

It still had the feel of ritual, Qui-Gon moving slowly and calmly through the familiar steps. He left the top loose, though, shaking his head and tucking a few strands behind his ears. He finally rose, stretching gracefully. 

That boot-strap really was troublesome; Obi-Wan could see where it would separate from its buckle and slide free if he wasn't absolutely sure that it was secured properly. He fastened it again with great care. 

At least Tiran was still nowhere to be seen. Obi-Wan might be able to locate him if he scanned the camera feeds, but even as he thought of it, his hand fell back onto the table. 

Qui-Gon was moving, triggering the wall panel that led to the playroom. 

Oh, dear. Obi-Wan froze. This was going to be more than a single boot-strap could compensate for. 

Qui-Gon stepped through the portal serenely, and the camera feed switched automatically to follow him. Obi-Wan glimpsed his chest and belly-- still taut with muscle, though the skin had loosened a bit and the chest-hair held a scattering of silver. But Qui-Gon's expression dominated his attention. His master looked purely peaceful-- not merely serene, but deeply at peace and content. Where serenity could be and often was a mask, this look had the feeling of soul-deep, certain acceptance. It was difficult to reconcile this man with the dark Jedi he'd expected to find. 

Then Qui-Gon shed his robe. Standing tall, he let it slide off his shoulders. The light hanging on the wall behind him caught in his hair like a halo as he tipped his chin back and raised his arms over his head, seeming to feel the caress of the air all over his bare skin. He wore a gold ring in his left nipple, which made Obi-Wan flinch, his hand going to his chest-- where he had never chosen to remove the ring Jata and Bilam had placed in his own left nipple. At first it had seemed inconsequential. Later he had regarded it as a source of secret pleasure, a link to a time when he still called this man his master. That Qui-Gon wore one now, in the same place, laced a thrill of erotic shock down Obi-Wan's spine. It could not be coincidence. 

Qui-Gon stretched, bowing and tucking his fingertips under his toes. It had the reverential simplicity of a salute before a motion/energy focusing kata, and Obi-Wan sighed with relief, thinking he had dodged a blaster bolt-- but then Qui-Gon began. 

He ran his hands over his body slowly, fingers and palms exploring with a gentle patience, expression still deeply peaceful. His fingertips traveled over and around his nipples, along his stomach, and under his testicles, lifting them and cradling their weight. They moved around his hips and over the swell of his bottom, down and between his thighs-- patient, slow, and appreciative. 

Obi-Wan's skin heated in a blush as Qui-Gon's hand circled his own shaft and tugged lightly upward. It began to fill and darken, responding to the gentle pressure.

Still moving with the slow, deliberate grace of a kata Qui-Gon handled his body again, dwelling on the nerves that generated pleasure. Though Obi-Wan was far away, he could sense the sexual energy Qui-Gon was building with his flesh-- this was a kata, Obi-Wan realized abruptly, but it was like none he had ever seen before. Instead of calming and controlling energy, this kata was meant to generate and experience it. 

Each pass of the broad hands intensified the energies Qui-Gon was generating-- he twisted the nipple ring until he gasped, the low sound from his parted lips driving straight to Obi-Wan's groin. He was helpless to look away as Qui-Gon bit a fingertip, then licked its pad and circled one nipple with the wet finger. His hair flowed with his movements, and Obi-Wan could see Qui-Gon enjoying its feathery glide against his skin. His face was perfectly smooth except for the smallest smile that curved his lips. His hand passed over his face, touching his mouth, and he licked and sucked at his own fingertips as if at a lover's, his eyes sliding shut, his body taut with growing tension. 

His shaft was fully erect now, too heavy to stand against his belly, dangling and moving gently with the slow glide of self-exploration. Then Qui-Gon stilled, the first phase of his kata arriving at a place of balance-- the whole body humming with energy, ready, in harmony with itself and its desires. 

Qui-Gon stirred, stepping forward, and his palm curled around something outside the camera's field of vision. When he stepped back again, he held a flogger, one with ultra light blades suitable for mild stimulation. Again he began to stroke-- trailing the soft fronds over his skin and letting them brush against his heavy shaft, dangling them along his thighs and calves. 

A quick whip-crack stroke and they curled around his shoulder. Another, another-- his ribs and flanks were touched with soft pink now, and Obi-Wan groaned low in his throat. He could almost feel the way the air would slide against the faint heat the flogger left, the skin sensitized to the slightest motion, to the slightest change in temperature. Another series of strokes and then the flogger was dropped and Qui-Gon stretched again. Obi-Wan could see the faintest gleam of moisture gleaming at the tip of the man's cock. He could not draw his eyes away for any amount of guilt, could not stir his conscience enough to bring himself to shut the console and withdraw. 

Returning to the shelf again, abandoning the light flogger, Qui-Gon reached a second time and came back with a small item in his palm-- a clip that he fastened onto his right nipple with slow deliberation, tightening it until he hissed and Obi-Wan whimpered in spite of himself. With every gesture, every bright spark of pleasure and pain, Qui-Gon's aura of contentment and peace grew stronger. 

He fisted his cock harder this time, stroking with more purpose. His nails dug at his flesh as he ran his hands over himself, worshipping sensation, scraping hard, blunt fingers over sensitive nerves, bringing his body from awareness to flame. Twist the clip, pull the ring, breathe. Bite the lip, stroke the cock, rest. 

The third stage now. This time Qui-Gon's preparations took longer, and when he stepped to the center of the room, his palm dripped with oil. 

He moved his oily hand over his cock, a loving, lingering stroke, and then he leaned to brace himself against the single piece of furniture, the apparatus with a dildo that dominated the little room, raising one foot and one arm to rest on it and leaning forward. 

Obi-Wan's hands closed to shuddering fists as Qui-Gon sank his fingers inside his body and fucked himself on them, long and slow and loving, his lips open. He persisted until his breathing came harshly in his throat and his skin gleamed with sweat. 

Too ashamed to touch himself, too aroused to remain passive, Obi-Wan began to squirm in spite of himself, hissing a low exhalation as the seam of his leggings dragged across his stiff cock. Had he thought he no longer loved this man? Perhaps not-- perhaps-- but lust? Oh, yes. He felt lust, more lust than he'd ever believed possible. The pure sensuality of the man, the strength of the energies he had to be generating, the complete, continuing acceptance he displayed, was unlike anything Obi-Wan had ever seen in him before. Was this what time and the Dark Side had wrought in Qui-Gon Jinn, once so severe and ascetic? How?! 

Qui-Gon arched and gasped, halted, quivering on the verge of orgasm, perfectly balanced: waiting a heartbeat, two, three... 

And he returned to his center. He calmed, wiped his hands on a towel, and tossed it away. 

This time he mounted the apparatus, settling on his knees over the dildo and hesitating as if in prayer, then slowly sinking down onto it, his lashes fanned against his cheeks, his mouth opening on a low groan of satisfaction. 

Obi-Wan whimpered helplessly, the sound choked in his throat, his hips surging forward, his cock desperate and pleading for attention. He could not, would not. But Qui-Gon would and did. His powerful thigh muscles ebbed and surged, that beatific smile still touching his face as he rode, tossing his hair back, tugging at his nipple ring, tightening the clamp-- slow and measured, escalating toward orgasm again, then stilling until it receded and he started the slow, deliberate climb again. 

Forward and back Qui-Gon rode, sweat gleaming rivulets down his broad chest. His hair clung to his skin, throat, shoulders and face. He grasped his cock, alternating hard, quick strokes and slow, measured ones, in perfect control of the building storm of pleasure inside him. Obi-Wan could hear the man's low sounds of effort and pleasure, a soft velvet growl slowly growing louder and more urgent, demanding, matching the crescendo building in his body. 

The tempo built with the urgency; Obi-Wan shoved the heel of his hand against his balls painfully, wondering dazedly if he could come without ever touching himself. There would be no more resting; Qui-Gon pushed forward into the channel of his fist and down to receive the dildo, moving fiercely. Then, as he rose, his eyes snapped open and he half-turned his face, staring straight into the camera, that strange little half-smile as predatory and knowing as it was peaceful and self-assured. 

In that fiery sapphire gaze, Obi-Wan felt himself seen and touched, known and welcomed in lust and love. 

He exploded into helpless orgasm at the searing caress of eyes and mind on his soul, wailing in harmony as Qui-Gon also groaned aloud-- "Obi-Wan!" They came together in long, soul-deep pulses of lust and perfect pleasure, welding them into a moment of pure unity, the distance between their bodies no longer important. Obi-Wan could feel the Force surging decisively around them, a million of his own possible futures opening and a million others closing as the nexus moment reshaped the universe and his course within it. 

Obi-Wan slapped the console shut with a trembling hand-- too late, too late. Seduced by the energy web Qui-Gon had woven, he had revealed himself in his desire; he was caught. He could not measure how anything had changed; for all its violence the nexus was past and the Force was silent. He only knew that the balance of his universe had inevitably altered and that the changes centered around Qui-Gon Jinn, whoever and whatever he had become. 

_I've got a bad feeling about this._

Obi-Wan rose on trembling legs and cleaned himself up, taking his time, lingering in the sonic shower and waiting while his soiled clothes went through a 'fresher cycle. Moth to flame, inevitable. Moth to flame, the pride of the Jedi shattered. All his training in serenity, all his supposed perfection? Meaningless. 

Obi-Wan gathered his things and re-wove his padawan braid, slow and methodical, finding only a poor semblance of calm. He enforced a placidity that he did not feel onto his motions; inside his soul he was a boiling morass of electric tension, conflicting thoughts and emotions arcing and tangling, seeking ground. This evening's events had constituted a Trial of both his spirit and his insight and he had failed both utterly. That thought sobered him if nothing else did. If he meant to become a Jedi Knight, he must achieve peace with all of himself. He felt shame at the thought, but at the same time, he didn't-- some untamable portion of him floated on wings of exultation and joy, anticipation and exhilaration proving stronger than fear. 

He left his room, understanding his role in the dance, and went out into the street, eyes flickering across the city to the Palazzo. He would go. It would cost him his dignity and his pride, but there was no point in waiting any longer, now that his presence and purpose were known. 

But the Force stirred with warmth and his head turned, for Qui-Gon was waiting, once again clad in brown and green, standing beneath a tall tree with long, trailing branches. A street-lamp shone softly, illuminating the silver-green leaves from within, catching the silver in Qui-Gon's hair. 

"A Jedi does not come only because he is summoned, so I have come to you instead." His one-time master smiled, infinitely tender, and he stepped forward with leonine grace, just the faintest hint of the predator in him, his arms opening to welcome Obi-Wan Kenobi home. 

***** 

Obi-Wan hesitated, torn between suspicion and yearning, and slowly stepped forward into Qui-Gon's arms, letting them close around him. He remained tense despite the warmth of the welcome, refusing to melt against the man's tall body and stepping back quickly as soon he was released. 

"I foresaw you would return to me one day," Qui-Gon said, releasing Obi-Wan at last and stepping back, looking him up and down. "I thought I sensed your presence when I first entered my rooms-- and then when your emotions flared in the Force, I felt you there with me." He smiled at Obi-Wan, his eyes warm. "We have much to do together." He set out, assuming Obi-Wan would follow. 

Foresight? That did not sound like the master he once knew, the Qui-Gon who customarily focused only on the moment. Obi-Wan evened his breathing with an effort, trying to release the tension from his body, wondering exactly how much choice he had and exactly what sort of things Qui-Gon had in mind for them to do. But ultimately it didn't matter; he knew he would follow, at least for now. He fell in at Qui-Gon's side and they began to stroll casually toward the Palazzo. 

"You have questions," Qui-Gon acknowledged, smiling over at him again. "Let me answer some of them as we walk." 

Obi-Wan nodded quietly, waiting. 

"You blame yourself for what happened to me, and I suppose you are correct, but not in the way you may believe." Qui-Gon's voice fell into a groove, the comfortable, pedantic tones of the long-accustomed master. "Before you were ever kidnapped I became aware of a serious problem in my soul, a problem neither my Jedi training nor my experience as a master had ever taught me how to deal with successfully. The problem involved personal imbalance and the typical accompanying lack of control. I had already determined that I must resolve this problem upon the conclusion of our mission. At the time, I thought I could do so with a spiritual retreat, time spent with soul healers and meditation, introspection and devotion to purging the imbalance and releasing it to the Force. I believe, in retrospect, that I would have failed to resolve the crisis even had I been able to address it then; the methods I hoped would serve would not have sufficed. But I am out of the thread of my tale. 

"You were kidnapped before I could act to address my imbalance, and you know very well what happened thereafter." Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment. "Or perhaps you don't. You must know what I did, but I don't know what you were told about other circumstances." 

"Master Yoda worked to coerce Dramacore to release me," Obi-Wan said softly. "It took time." 

"The Council decided to bow to Dramacore's demands, at least in the short-term, hoping to suppress the holograms and protect the reputation of the Senate and the Order," Qui-Gon corrected him, voice steely. "Voices in the Senate pressured them to take this path. Yoda was proactive in your defense, I agree-- if somewhat inadequately, but others were not." 

"You came to rescue me with Knight Raksen and Padawan Walek." 

"I came after you alone." Qui-Gon's voice grew chilly. "Misi was sent to be a watchdog over me, I think, to see what I would do and to interfere if she thought it necessary. She did interfere, at times; she protected you in the arena when I could not, and she was there to stop me at the end when I lost myself to the Dark Side." 

"I saw the transports." Obi-Wan lowered his head. "You had little choice, acting alone-- drastic actions were warranted. You couldn't fight a hundred men, all the handlers, and the cats." 

"I acted as I needed to then, I agree." Qui-Gon nodded. "I'm glad you see that, Obi-Wan. In that instance, if not in the city square, my actions were justified, though the means and the motives were not." He looked at Obi-Wan for a long moment, his face still. "In the city center innocents were present and I could not restrain the Dark Side. I took innocent lives in my passion for revenge." 

Obi-Wan accepted the evaluation with a quiet nod. 

"I already knew the Council had declared me rogue. It didn't concern me as it should. Rogues have returned to the Jedi before and have found themselves welcome. But after the battle in the square, that was no longer possible. I would not be accepted after doing such things as I had done, not knowing such things as I knew. Not thinking such things as I thought. It was at that moment, realizing how far I had fallen to the dark, that I determined I must leave you. I did not like placing you in the hands of the Council, not after they failed to protect you and seek your release, but I had no better choice. You were in poor condition and I could not provide the resources your care demanded-- I couldn't even take care of myself, though I too was badly in need of healing. And I had commitments, promises to keep." He smiled again, disarming, and Obi-Wan was struck suddenly by the ease and frequency of that smile, once so rare. 

"I took the cats-- I called them all to me and I tended their wounds, then I returned them to their homeworld, a remote and savage place called Chandar. I released them, and Maj'lis-- the cat who covered you in the city center, if you recall him? With Maj'lis at their head, they made a mighty hunting pride." His voice was distant for a moment, his eyes faraway. "I stayed with them for a time to ensure they would survive, and I let the Living Force flow through me and heal my hurts. I lost track of time and self while running with the hunt. When I left Chandar, nearly a year had passed and I was much mended. I contacted Master Tahl, where I learned that you were becoming well again and that Yoda had undertaken to finish your training. That knowledge eased my fears on your behalf." He smiled sidelong at Obi-Wan. "If there is still a Jedi I trust, it is he." 

Obi-Wan inclined his head in agreement, though a shiver of alarm slid along his spine. _If there is a Jedi I trust. If. And he does not trust me._

"That doesn't explain anything unexpected about my role in what happened to you," Obi-Wan ventured neutrally. 

"No," Qui-Gon agreed. "Your role was threefold, and you are only aware of a single aspect. The threat to you, of course, drove me to access the Dark Force in order to have the strength I required to protect you in ways I could not have accomplished otherwise, not alone. But there was more. There was also, of course, my attachment to you, which is excessive by any measure the Jedi Code can apply." 

Obi-Wan blinked at the information and at the casual tone in which it was delivered. "Attachment." He tasted the word passionlessly, listening for any truth it might carry. _He used the present tense._ An unwanted but delicious shiver slid through him. 

"Yes." No further explanation appeared to be forthcoming. "And in addition to the attachment we shared, there were your questions. Always you questioned the tenets of serenity; you questioned the rightness of objecting to attachment. You proposed alternative solutions-- channeling the passion of attachment productively, learning to accept and control attachment rather than rejecting it. As I thought over what had happened, I realized your words were wisdom. You know of the Jedi enclave on Corellia, where nuclear families form within the Jedi; they do these things. Why are they considered anathema by the Temple on Coruscant? There is no reasonable answer. 

"As part of my self-therapy I researched these theories you had proposed. I studied them in practice on Corellia. I contacted the Whills and learned much there. And while I did these things, I also gave myself leave to pursue a particular passion I had developed: the passion to destroy the entity and the people who had hurt you." Qui-Gon's voice was calm as a spring morning, his mien and his countenance peaceful, but suddenly Obi-Wan could sense an ice-cold splinter of hatred in his soul. "I took the riches you were promised for your victory and used them for this cause; Jata had them on his person and I needed them-- and I knew the Jedi did not. Later King Tiran succeeded his father, and he has been quite glad to assist me, as you will see. 

"But that is less important than why I have made my choices. Obi-Wan, I have come to realize a fundamental flaw in the tenets of the Jedi Code." Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, pausing and leaning against an iron fence, studying him with thoughtful interest. "In denying themselves the right to experience their passions, the Jedi have become unbalanced. They have listened to fear and chosen the path of cowardice; by reducing their capacity to feel, they have reduced themselves in power and compassion. I believe this is a fatal flaw. Sooner or later such an unbalanced structure will fail to thrive, as it failed to serve you in your need-- as I very nearly failed you." 

Obi-Wan felt another frisson shudder through his body. "My questions? But every padawan asks his master why the Code is written as it is." 

"Then perhaps every padawan's master should listen to his apprentice," Qui-Gon returned sharply. "As I should have listened to your dreams." 

"But the Code protects us from the consequences of acting without understanding." Obi-Wan felt very strange about attempting to convince Qui-Gon of tenets his master had once drilled into him with patient persistence. 

They walked on in silence for a few minutes before Qui-Gon spoke again. "You speak of protection. Ask yourself, Obi-Wan, whether protection strengthens the protected. Does it do so or does it render its recipient dependent?" 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He hesitated, then spoke. "It allows the weak to survive when they could not do so otherwise. That is the purpose of the Jedi. To defend and uphold those who cannot--" 

"Is that a tenet the Council followed when they failed to send a force to retake you from Dramacore?" 

"That's different." 

"No." Qui-Gon stopped and faced him, eyes narrowing. "The difference is only in your mind. Soon you will come to see the contradiction between the Code and the Council's actions, as I do. Then maybe you will grow to understand that the Code is as misguided as the Council." 

"You're mistaken," Obi-Wan rallied bravely, but he was not at all sure-- he remembered Mace Windu's burning eyes as he spoke of allying the Jedi with the Trade Federation, the better to guide it from within. 

"Your feelings betray your doubt," Qui-Gon observed gently. 

Obi-Wan colored; he had no ready answer. 

"I have spent the remainder of the years since we parted pursuing the destruction of Dramacore and certain of their affiliates." Qui-Gon continued after a time. They had reached the dockside. As they paused to look out over the water, Obi-Wan listened to the small boats rocking against their moorings. Qui-Gon fell silent and Obi-Wan listened to the soft hush of the water lapping and the low murmur of the breeze. The wavelets caught the glimmer of the city lamps and reflected them back, making the sides of the boats and the stone of the quay dance with pale light. 

At last Qui-Gon spoke again, his voice low and intimate. "My quest for revenge has been both instructive and personally satisfying, Obi-Wan. I've learned to control my passions by experiencing them rather than denying them, and I can access those powers the Jedi call the 'dark side' in such a way that I control them rather than allowing them to control me. My center is whole and true once more, and I have strengthened it. I'm more powerful than I ever anticipated, and happiness has become part of me." He glanced at Obi-Wan. "Especially tonight." His voice warmed. "Your presence is all I could have asked for to improve on my contentment." 

His hand fell, feather-light, on the small of Obi-Wan's back, and Obi-Wan shivered again, this time with heat rather than chill. How was it that Qui-Gon could overwhelm him so effortlessly even after so long? 

Obi-Wan did not know how to answer him. "You honor me with your confidences." He felt brittle and exposed, overwhelmed by a turmoil of conflicting emotion, uncertain of his companion's intent. "But you must see that these views are nothing short of heresy." 

"That is a word I would have expected to hear from the Council, borne to me on the point of a sword, accompanying a bargain that is no bargain-- a demand that I submit to their harness or to prison rather than deny their arrogant self-deception and continue to walk in freedom." Qui-Gon's hand did not move. "Are you the Council's sword, Obi-Wan?" 

Windu. Obi-Wan flashed on his memory of Windu's cold-hot eyes burning at him, and his implication that Obi-Wan's Trials would be successful if he returned with Qui-Gon neutralized or in custody. Yes. It was true. 

"Qui-Gon, I--" 

Qui-Gon silenced him, gently tugging him forward and sealing his mouth softly over Obi-Wan's words. 

The sweetness of pure fire annihilated Obi-Wan's mind. Liquid strokes of velvet lips devastated him with tenderness, the soft brush of Qui-Gon's breath warmed his cheek, and then Qui-Gon's silky tongue coaxed his lips to open and slid slowly inside his mouth, stroking lightly at his palate, inviting him to respond. He could not resist, his hands unclenching from startled fists, tentatively rising to cradle Qui-Gon's forearms, then his elbows, then his shoulders as the kiss sank deeper, kindling them both. 

_I am in so much trouble,_ Obi-Wan thought faintly, and Qui-Gon drew back. 

"Yes," he answered gravely, his eyes unreadable, lost in shadows as he looked down into Obi-Wan's face. "More than you know." He touched Obi-Wan's lip softly with one rough knuckle. "It's growing late. Let's be going." 

They climbed toward the Palazzo faster now, Qui-Gon leading with renewed purpose. Soon the city was behind them and they walked through night-drenched gardens full of rich, sweet perfumes. Qui-Gon directed them to enter a gravel lane over-arched by trellises of roses, the moon glowing in their petals, delicately scented dew showering them whenever one of them brushed a trailing branch. 

The front door swung open at a wave of Qui-Gon's palm and they went in, Obi-Wan hesitating, overwhelmed once more by the opulence of the grand double stair. Qui-Gon mounted it casually, glancing back for him, and he followed, wondering uncomfortably what lay in store. He was unsurprised to be led to the private living quarters, but was relieved when Qui-Gon stopped just short of the master bedroom and directed Obi-Wan into a room of his own. 

"This room should meet your needs, and if it doesn't, you have only to ask for what you wish. Ring the bell there. You will find my housekeeper accommodating." The coverlet was already turned back, windows open to the fragrant night, and fresh flowers had been cut and arranged to welcome him. From his windows Obi-Wan could look over the sea and hear the faint, lonely crash and moan of the waves as they broke on the shore. 

Obi-Wan nodded. "It is more than adequate. Thank you." Pointedly he dropped his pack by the wall nearest the 'fresher and shouldered out of his robe, spreading it neatly on the floor to serve him as a bed. 

Qui-Gon chuckled, rueful. "Shall I show you the cold water taps so that you don't enjoy the hospitality of warmth against your wishes?" 

Obi-Wan laughed, but did not move his robe from its place on the floor. "I think I can survive a hot bath with my integrity intact." _But perhaps not what's coming next._ He held his breath and waited for Qui-Gon's next move. _En garde._

Qui-Gon inclined his head gracefully, acknowledging the expectations of the moment. He stepped to the wall opposite of Obi-Wan's chosen bed and touched a section of wainscoting there. The wall slid aside, revealing Qui-Gon's own suite next door. "You are welcome to come to my bed if you wish." His voice was husky with promise and his eyes caressed Obi-Wan with longing, but he did not step forward. _Attaque._

"I think that would be a bad idea." Obi-Wan straightened his spine and was glad to hear that his voice seemed steady. "A wise man once told me the reward for my actions must be sufficient for their cost." _Parry._

"And what do you believe it would cost you to lie with me?" Qui-Gon mused, not seeming at all offended. "Your dignity, your pride? Your honor? Your knighthood? Your heart?" _Reprise._

 _My soul?_ Obi-Wan rallied as best he could-- the thought of bedding Qui-Gon left him dry-mouthed with lust. "And how would it reward me? A night of pleasure? A lifetime of regret?" _Arreêt à bon temps._

Qui-Gon's eyes closed and he dipped his chin, politely accepting the refusal. "It goes without saying: I will respect your wishes in this." His eyes opened, sadness dimming their deep blue. "I hope in time you will come to trust me, Obi-Wan." _Contre-parade._

"I hope in time you will earn my trust." _Touché._

Qui-Gon nodded without speaking and stepped through the opening in the wall, which slid closed behind him. 

Obi-Wan sagged against the plaster, scrubbing his palm over his face. He needed a shave and a hot bath would feel marvelous after the cold one he had taken in the hostel. A second cold shower would probably serve him better, but he had denied himself enough for one evening. 

He would bathe and rest, then see what the morning brought. 

***** 

Dawn brought the cries of sea-birds and the scent of the ocean breeze wafting in through his windows. Opening one eye, Obi-Wan saw a white bird with black tips on its wings sitting on the sill of one window, studying him through one bright eye. 

"Good morning," he greeted it. "You'd better not come in. I'd hate to have to explain what you'd probably do on the carpet." 

It flew at the sound of his voice, launching out across the ocean, and he followed it to the edge of the terrace, looking down at the crashing surf many meters below. 

The air was chilly, but not unpleasantly so; he went to his knees on the terrace and reached inside himself to greet the dawn, sending his consciousness spiraling out to explore the vast seascape before him, feeling the surge and billow of the airs and the waves under the warming of the light. 

In time he felt eyes resting on him so he returned to himself slowly, drifting up out of his trance. He was unsurprised to find Qui-Gon standing at the rail on his own balcony, silently watching Obi-Wan meditate. There was soft heat in the man's eyes, and Obi-Wan realized he should have put on his tunics before emerging. At least he had worn his leggings, he thought wryly. 

He stood, stretching, absurdly embarrassed by the little gold ring in his nipple and the way its chill had made his flesh tighten. 

"You are beautiful," Qui-Gon said simply. "Will you join me for breakfast? There is much to discuss." 

"I'll finish dressing." Obi-Wan did, then let himself into the hall where Qui-Gon waited, every inch the polite host. But of course he would wish to seem so. Obi-Wan must be patient and watchful; he must not allow himself to forget that this was a Dark Jedi who stood before him, not the same kind master he had once known. This was a man who had killed innocents for his own purposes and who might do so again, if it suited him. 

"You're watching me out of the corners of your eyes as if you expect me to run mad and start dissecting the servants," Qui-Gon commented wryly as they descended the stair. "I'm not even carrying my lightsaber, Obi-Wan." 

"And you're watching me full-on without blinking, as if you're one of those damned cats preparing to pounce on a particularly tasty morsel," Obi-Wan retaliated tartly. 

"I regret causing you discomfort." Qui-Gon turned his face away with considerate tact. "I would normally break my fast in my rooms, but today is a special occasion. You'll like this, I think." He pushed open a door. A study lay within, a relatively small round table laid for breakfast inside it, and two people waited there, rising as the door opened. Qui-Gon stepped aside to allow Obi-Wan to enter as he hung back. 

"Tiran. And Gida?" Joy exploded through Obi-Wan and he forgot his worries, surging forward to scoop Gida into his arms, kissing her cheek. Then he extended a more restrained handclasp to Tiran, who stood back, watching him with eyes that were not perfectly welcoming. "It's good to see you." He included them both in his gaze. "I never found out what happened to you, Gida. Knight Raksen said she left you with the price of passage off Lisyl, but she didn't say where you went. Tiran..." he hesitated. The Prince-- the king now-- had never answered his messages. "I've missed you more than I can say. I'm sorry I sent you home so summarily." 

Tiran's eyes did not warm. "That's in the past," he dismissed it. "Lord Jinn has explained that you acted as a Jedi must." 

"You both look well." Obi-Wan held Gida away from him. Bacta treatment had faded her scars to the palest of lines, barely visible. "What have you been doing with yourself?" 

"I bought passage to Xinune while you were with the healers on Lisyl and Tiran was kind enough to take me into his service," Gida explained. "Now I'm the head of housekeeping here at the Palazzo for Lord Jinn." 

"My wife doesn't care for reminders of my sordid past," Tiran's voice was quite dry. "I thought it best if Gida and she did not try to coexist under the same roof." 

"Or myself," Qui-Gon added, also dry but light. "For some reason, Queen Ashea believes I tempt her husband's dubious virtue." 

"You'd tempt the virtue of a monk." Heat flashed in Tiran's eyes as he gazed past Obi-Wan's shoulder toward Qui-Gon. 

"Evidently not," Qui-Gon returned, self-deprecating, tilting his head towards Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan flushed to hear their personal business revealed so casually in company, but he suddenly understood the King's coolness. Tiran was jealous of Obi-Wan and of how Qui-Gon apparently felt about him. Of course. How fortunate it was that as a Jedi, Obi-Wan did not share such ignoble emotions. 

"Well, I'm not about to be an obstacle to anyone's temptation." Obi-Wan spoke smoothly. "Gida, come sit beside me and we'll let the lovebirds sit together." 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon rumbled, exasperated. 

"No, I won't hear of it." He would hold Gida on his lap if he had to. "I think it's admirable that you've found a congenial partner with whom to share your new philosophy of sexual adventure," he told Qui-Gon archly. He took Gida's hand and led her to one side of the table, placing her between himself and the seat at its head, which Qui-Gon took after a pause that was fraught with tension. 

Tiran sat belligerently at Qui-Gon's right hand, across from Gida, and scowled openly at Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon stared austerely at Tiran and Obi-Wan flourished his napkin, deliberately ignoring the byplay and concentrating on placing it neatly in his lap. 

Gida stared between the three of them with disbelief. "Oh, for--" she shook her head curtly, then clapped her hands. A bevy of kitchen maids emerged from an alcove, each pushing a tray groaning with steaming dishes. 

The maids served them with practiced efficiency, loading Obi-Wan's plate with more food than he was accustomed to eat in an entire day and pouring half a dozen beverages for him-- both cold and steaming. 

"You set an impressive table," he directed the compliment to Gida. 

"It's nice working without a budget," she giggled, glancing at Tiran. 

"Only the best for Lord Jinn," he responded stiffly. 

"Only the best for my guests." Qui-Gon placed his fingers on Tiran's wrist, calming him. 

"A courtship ritual," Obi-Wan pointed it out to Gida, gesturing with his fork. "Very touching." 

"Don't patronize me!" Tiran flared. "Either of you!" 

"Is this a domestic spat?" Obi-Wan asked Gida _sotto voce,_ unable to help himself. "I've always wanted to be part of one." 

"Stop it," Gida hissed. "Stop it, all of you." She flashed a glare at each of them. "This is a pleasant reunion between friends. You're going to eat this meal that I've spent days planning and we're going to have a polite conversation while you do it." 

"Yes, mother." Qui-Gon smiled at her indulgently, his fondness apparent. 

_Oh. Perhaps he's having her, as well._ Obi-Wan restrained his acid tongue with difficulty. "The weather is very clement," he offered by way of polite apology and the others murmured assent, venturing an occasional compliment on one of the courses. But for the most part they continued the meal in strained silence until Qui-Gon pushed away his plate. 

"Gida, thank you for your hard work. Breakfast was exquisite, as always." 

"It's my pleasure." She bowed her head, self-conscious. 

"And King Tiran, thank you for taking the time from your duties to be here. Your support is very important to me and you know how fond I am of you." His smile held a trace of sadness. "Of all three of you. But pleasant though it may be to share your companionship, I'm afraid the real reason you are here is one related to business." 

He paused gravely, studying each of them; Gida snapped her fingers and dismissed the kitchen maids, who trooped out passively. When the alcove door clicked shut Qui-Gon continued. 

"My researches into Dramacore's affairs have, as some of you already know, revealed alarming insights into the state of the Republic. I have little personal incentive to care whether the Senate thrives or even the Jedi," he looked at Obi-Wan apologetically, "Saving present company, of course." He waited for a response, but when none was forthcoming, he went on. "However, I am concerned for the general order and well-being of the galaxy, and I have become convinced those agencies are the best existing means of protecting them. I think we can all agree that it would not benefit the vast majority of citizens to see the Republic become an oligarchy-- a group of planets whose citizens are little better than slaves governed by a few elite corporate interests, whose only concern is increasing their profits. Or perhaps it will even come to be governed by a single powerful figure, one who controls those interests and manipulates them to his own satisfaction." 

Obi-Wan remembered Windu's desire to ally with the Trade Federation, his heart sinking. "What evidence do you have for this?" 

"These interests have allied, calling themselves the Trade Federation-- of which Dramacore is a member in good standing. They apply careful political pressure to worlds where they perceive a profit can be made and to worlds whose circumstances create particular kinds of political leverage. You may recall the Blockade of Naboo, only recently settled when Queen Amidala surrendered to pressure and ended the blockade by agreeing to pay the crippling excise taxes the Nemoidians imposed on trade routes to her world, the method they chose to employ in protest when the Senate levied import taxes against them. During this conflict Nubian Senator Palpatine succeeded Chancellor Valorum. And though Chancellor Palpatine publicly rails against the Trade Federation, evidence shows that they have only grown and thrived under his regime." 

Obi-Wan nodded; Naboo had been a mess even without the involvement of the Sith, though now that he considered it, he realized the Jedi had focused largely on the emergence of their old rivals and less on pressing humanitarian concerns such as the needs of Naboo's citizens. 

"Naboo is not alone. Many worlds are affected, including my own world of origin. The taxes and tariffs levied on both imports and exports are so oppressive that most of the citizens on these worlds have insufficient access to food and medicine. The affluent few who do control the political power in the Senate and do not feel compassion for others less fortunate than themselves. And so the Trade Federation grows and their influence spreads, creating a state of economic distress for increasing numbers of worlds throughout the Republic. 

"I don't have the resources that would be required to defeat, or even significantly injure, the Trade Federation," Qui-Gon admitted. "It would take an army of unprecedented size, I think, and all the ships and resources the Republic could bring to bear. But I have done as much as I could by smuggling resources to those who needed them most, striking here and there whenever I have the opportunity to damage the Trade Federation's interests just as I have struck against Dramacore. If need be, I will continue to strike on a small scale, hoping that a pebble can somehow turn the tide." 

He looked sober. "The Force has also shown me a man-- a dangerous man cloaked in shadow, who stands at the center of this situation, pulling the strings of his puppets in power. I am close on his trail. And that is where you come in." He gazed at Obi-Wan. "If and when I find him, I will need you to persuade the Jedi Council to move against him. The Jedi must oppose the Trade Federation even at the cost of war. Even if the Senate and the Supreme Chancellor do not agree." 

Obi-Wan stared at the tabletop between his fingers, thinking of Windu. "My heart tells me they will refuse. You've only offered opinions; I've seen no proof. I have only your word." 

"I can show plenty of proof." Qui-Gon straightened his spine. "But you will have to accompany me on my next mission, Obi-Wan, to see it. It is not a planned attack, though I will not hesitate to defend us with any means at my disposal should we be discovered. If you will accompany me I believe you'll see more than you need to know about the power of the Trade Federation and the consequences of their business practices." 

"I know you would go if you could," he forestalled Tiran, raising one palm. "But your duties lie here. As do yours, little one." He smiled again at Gida. "I'll have need of you both if things go as I've foreseen." 

"You never used to concern yourself with the future," Obi-Wan murmured. 

"I was wrong." Qui-Gon squared his shoulders, face alight with certainty-- Obi-Wan realized Gida and Tiran were each staring at him with awe, rapt, entranced by his conviction and his charisma. That kind of magnetism could be perilous in the hands of the wrong person, and seeing it in Qui-Gon made Obi-Wan feel deeply uneasy. 

"I believe you are correct about the Trade Federation's predatory intentions; however, I need to see what you say you have to show me," Obi-Wan decided reluctantly. Windu was right about one thing-- Qui-Gon was extremely dangerous. "I'll have to report to the Council first." He rose to return to his room. 

"I cannot allow that," Qui-Gon sighed. "The security risk is too great; I believe the Jedi are compromised even to the highest levels." 

"You said you trusted Yoda." 

"As much as I trust any Jedi, but I do not trust him in this. Not when all our lives are at stake, not when the time is not yet ripe for him to know." 

"Nevertheless, I have a duty to--" 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes as if in pain and raised a palm to silence Obi-Wan. "I hoped it would not be necessary, but you force my hand. You'll find that your communications equipment will not function." 

"You sabotaged it while I was sleeping." 

"I did it while you bathed." Qui-Gon did not raise his eyes, waiting. 

"You aren't doing much to earn my trust, you realize." Obi-Wan folded his arms, already knowing the answer to his next question. "If I decided to depart now and be done with this, would I be allowed to go?" 

"No," Qui-Gon admitted quietly. "You would not." 

"I thought as much." Obi-Wan leaned back. "It's just as well, then, that I planned to agree." 

"Yes." Qui-Gon looked up at him at last, eyes dark, almost desperate. "Forgive me?" 

"Unlikely." Obi-Wan stood, gathering his dignity. "I see the cost of accepting your offer would have been even more than I anticipated." 

Qui-Gon's eyes closed again and he seemed to shrink within himself. "So too would the reward." He sounded almost fragile. 

"I'll be the judge of that." Obi-Wan retreated to the door. "Tiran, Gida, it's been my pleasure to see you both again. I apologize for my childish behavior and I hope you won't hold it against me." 

Tiran flashed an angry stare at him and did not speak, reaching out to stroke Qui-Gon's arm, comforting him. Qui-Gon covered the King's hand with his own, patting his fingers. 

Gida sighed. "The housemaids won't watch themselves, I suppose." She tugged her blouse straight and arranged her hair. "I'll see you when you return, Obi." She stepped up to him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Don't be so harsh with him. He loves you," she whispered in his ear before she ghosted away. 

Obi-Wan had his own opinions about that. 

He went back to his room-- his pleasant jail-- and packed away his few things, testing his neutered comlink and confirming Qui-Gon's claim. He tossed it into the bottom of his pack; he might eventually be able to repair it, given access to the right components. 

Prepared for travel, he went again onto the balcony, where the sea still muttered restlessly against the marble promontory. He had vaguely hoped to get down there to see the tidepools and wade in the sand. But as Jedi, all too often he did not get to enjoy the worlds he visited. 

He retrieved his cloak and wrapped it around him: he felt better wrapped inside the mantle of the Jedi, symbol and signifier of his duty. It would be easier to be cold to Qui-Gon now that his good faith had been betrayed, now that the man himself had made Obi-Wan's role clear. Yet he could not help but regret declining the night he might have spent in Jinn's bed, letting himself enjoy the pleasure that was offered, letting himself fall in love with his old master again, letting himself believe in the tenderness he had been shown, letting himself ignore that this was not the same man he had once known. 

"My master wouldn't fuck me even if he turned to the Dark Side, for then he would no longer be my master," Obi-Wan murmured, realizing he had finally found the correct answer to the old riddle. Tears stung his eyes, unexpected. What fools they had been to play that game, so young and innocent, unheeding. Perhaps this was one of the insights Yoda had hoped he would find here. 

He sensed Qui-Gon at his door and went in to meet him, shutting the windows and taking up his pack. 

"Our ship is ready." Qui-Gon led him forth. "I think you'll find it well-appointed. We have a considerable journey ahead of us." 

"Did you remember to pack the sand?" Obi-Wan asked without thinking, then regretted the flash of wistfulness in Qui-Gon's eyes. 

"Have you expanded your skills?" 

"Not at sorting sand." Obi-Wan shook his head briskly. "But I believe I could surprise you in the training salle." 

"There is a suitable room on the ship." 

"I'll challenge you to a match, then." It would be wise to take the man's measure and learn whatever he could of him. _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer._

*************************

GLOSSARY

 _Arrêt à bon temps:_ Fencing term: A counter-attack that attempts to take advantage of an uncertain attack. (To stop in time). 

Ataru: Form IV lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

_Attaque:_ Fencing term: The initial offensive action in a fencing match. 

Chandar: Undeveloped world where the arranhar evolved and thrive in the wild. 

Chattan: Gaelic for "cat," this word is also a Scottish clan name that may be used as a first name. Qui-Gon's cat is heavily based on a Scottish Wildcat. For more information and photos, see scottishwildcats.co.uk. 

Cin Drallig: Jedi Battlemaster during the Clone Wars (and evidently for at least a short while before). See Wookieepedia. 

_Contre-parade:_ Fencing term: A parry made in the opposite line to the attack, coming around to the opposite side of the blade. 

_Dun Möch:_ A lightsaber battle technique consisting of distracting an opponent with taunts while fighting. Often employed by Sith. See Wookieepedia. 

Eekt Do'ha: A human padawan, lost on a mission, presumed dead. Now working against the Trade Federation under the auspices of former Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. 

_En garde:_ Fencing term: On guard, ready for attack. 

Jantak: A Bith Jedi Master, lost on a mission, presumed dead. Now working against the Trade Federation under the auspices of former Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.

Lisyl: Planet where Obi-Wan was chased by arranhar. 

Parry: Fencing term: To block an attack. 

Queen Ashea: King Tiran's wife and the mother of his children, joined to him in a loveless political marriage to promote peace. 

_Reprise:_ Fencing term: Renewal of an attack that missed or was parried. 

Soresu: Form III lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

_Touché:_ Fencing term: To score a touch or point with an attack. 

Vaapad: Form VII Lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

Velon: City on Xinune where Qui-Gon Jinn holds property (the estate known as the Palazzo, deeded to him by King Tiran) and resides between attacks on Dramacore. 

Yielding Parry: Fencing term: Deflecting the incoming attack by maintaining contact with the blade and changing the point of contact between the blades, moving from a position of poor leverage to one using the forte for strong leverage.


	3. The Mission

Obi-Wan's room on the ship did not adjoin directly to Qui-Gon's, a distinct improvement over his accommodations at the Palazzo. The facilities aboard ship were much smaller but still sinfully lavish, extending as far as hot water showers linked directly to a small water recycler. Obi-Wan left his pack on the floor and laid out his cloak next to it. 

Qui-Gon was waiting in the corridor when he emerged, and Obi-Wan noted the lightsaber at his onetime master's hip, worn openly for the first time since they had met. 

Obi-Wan felt genuine anticipation and eagerness filling him. He should not feel so, he knew, and he worked to release his emotions as they stepped into the empty room that awaited. 

"It isn't ideal, but the walls are blast shielded, so if we collide with one we won't wind up frying any critical circuitry." Qui-Gon adjusted his lightsaber to training intensity, the hum softening slightly, and he tapped the wall to illustrate. The blade rebounded without leaving damage. 

Obi-Wan adjusted his own settings accordingly and rolled his shoulders, bouncing lightly on his toes, loosening his muscles. He took his ready position, waiting for Qui-Gon to ready himself as well. 

"Soresu?" Qui-Gon blinked mild surprise. "A conservative approach. Not the one you once favored." 

It was an approach much better suited to cramped quarters than Qui-Gon's preferred form, Obi-Wan knew. He centered on his breathing, reaching out to the Force, and found calm awaiting him there. He closed his eyes and his wrists darted subtly as he answered the Force's call. _Flick. Flick. Flick._ Three crashing blows impacted on his lightsaber in rapid succession, jarring him with their violence, but he was prepared for Qui-Gon's strength and he did not waver. Backstep and circle, moving to Qui-Gon's weaker left. 

"You expect me to exhaust my strength while you defend. Then you will go on the offensive," Qui-Gon mused. Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, awaiting the next attack, and did not respond. He could see the man's eyes darkening. "It will not work." 

Qui-Gon lashed out, blade darting behind Obi-Wan's calf, targeting his hamstring. Obi-Wan leaped overhead, body barely clearing the tall man inside the constricting space, his heels grazing the ceiling as he flipped. He lashed out with his saber as he came down, but Qui-Gon darted away from him and turned, resuming his guard. Qui-Gon advanced, unleashing a rain of powerful blows that arced wide and dove in from every direction; Obi-Wan blocked them all, absorbing the crushing power of Qui-Gon's strength with shoulders that began to ache under the battering strain. Qui-Gon's eyes were hot and he pressed his advantage, stepping forward, driving Obi-Wan up against the wall. Obi-Wan flipped again and nearly took a blade to the midsection for his troubles, twisting in midair and half-fumbling the landing. The damned low ceiling got in his way. 

Qui-Gon stepped back to allow him to recover and Obi-Wan's face flushed hot with embarrassment-- he had just held his own against four blademasters when passed his Trial of Skill, and now this? 

"That was irritation," Qui-Gon remarked conversationally. "Would you like to see anger?" 

Obi-Wan frowned, not understanding. 

"Different emotions enhance strength in different ways," Qui-Gon explained patiently. "And some detract from it." He stilled himself, drawing a deep breath, and waited until Obi-Wan resumed his guard. "I did not appreciate your treatment of Tiran this morning." He surged forward almost faster than the Force sang its warning, and Obi-Wan leaped-- straight into the attack belied by the feint. Qui-Gon's blade crashed against his desperate, last-moment guard, forcing him back step by inexorable step, then jerked away and cut toward his knees. Obi-Wan jumped, frantic, barely avoiding it, and retreated in disarray from the tornado of green flame that advanced, the humming blade seemingly everywhere at once. Obi-Wan abandoned rational thought and fled into the moment, reacting by pure instinct before blows launched, but Qui-Gon kept up the pressure, battering his blade until his hand grew numb, forcing him back until their sabers squealed against the wall. 

"You can do this," Qui-Gon encouraged, voice grating low. "I've seen you do it before, fighting Bruck Chun when you were an initiate, though you didn't realize what you were doing then. Let yourself feel the anger. You believe Tiran and I have been intimate. He's beautiful, isn't he? As beautiful as you. More." 

Obi-Wan snarled, clinging to his defenses by his fingernails. "Shut up." He drove his blade around, switching to Ataru, matching Qui-Gon form to form, a vicious slash pushing him back for a moment, just long enough for Obi-Wan to sidestep and regain room to maneuver. 

"Good," Qui-Gon murmured, stepping back and resting as Obi-Wan circled, moving his blade into his weaker hand and shaking his right hand to bring circulation back into the fingers. "Your anger made you strong. Did you feel it?" 

"You won't turn me," Obi-Wan hissed, exhaling, forcing the anger out. 

"I'm not trying." Qui-Gon circled to keep himself facing Obi-Wan. "This is merely a demonstration. The Dark Side does not control me." He tilted his head, thoughtful. "I should try a different approach, shouldn't I?" 

A faint smile touched his mouth and he advanced again, his blade held in both fists before his body. He lunged forward, simple and direct, and his blade locked with Obi-Wan's, the two of them struggling, their lips drawing back in a grimace as they tested strength against strength. Obi-Wan spun, attempting a reverse, but Qui-Gon merely trapped his blade again and pressed forward. The big man slid his saber down Obi-Wan's toward the hilt, leaning dangerously close, his eyes sparkling with fire. Obi-Wan's concentration faltered in the flame of that look, just for a heartbeat-- but it was enough. 

Qui-Gon set his feet and shoved, driving Obi-Wan's hand backward sharply, and Obi-Wan was forced to jerk his own lightsaber to the side, away from his face, before it could burn him. Qui-Gon's extinguished in the same moment and the momentum of his body drove Obi-Wan hard against the wall. The hilt of Qui-Gon's lightsaber was entrapped, pressed between their bellies. Obi-Wan might use his blade at will, but if the battle had been real, the illegal point was already scored-- a fatality, _corps-a-corps._

Obi-Wan dropped his lightsaber, which clattered on the deck; A moment later Qui-Gon shifted his hips and his own followed suit. He withdrew his hands and braced them against the wall on either side of Obi-Wan's head. His hot, muscular body held Obi-Wan trapped against the wall and his breath brushed Obi-Wan's mouth as he spoke, feather-light. "Lust," Qui-Gon explained softly, eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's lips. "Quite a dangerous attack, but also the most vulnerable." 

Obi-Wan fell still, his breath coming hard in his chest, waiting frozen with anticipation, needing to feel Qui-Gon's mouth on his, craving it-- but still unwilling to close the distance himself, unwilling to grant that extra measure of victory. 

Qui-Gon stepped back after a long moment, offering his hand; Obi-Wan accepted it hesitantly and let himself be pulled upright. 

"Master Drallig is the most competent Jedi blademaster in a millennium," Obi-Wan muttered to himself, disgusted. "I held him off, and three others, too, in my Trial of Skill." 

"An opponent who can surprise you is always dangerous," Qui-Gon shrugged. "You were used to their methods, but not to mine-- and worse, you believed you knew how to anticipate me. I hope you will spend time meditating on this demonstration." He straightened his clothes, pulling his long mane away from his neck to cool himself. 

"You always told me to avoid Vaapad." Obi-Wan frowned, trying to set aside the remembered sensation of Qui-Gon's powerful body crushed against his. "But what you did here today is very like it." 

"Vaapad is a good analogy, at least psychologically. You can use your emotions to gain strength with any of the forms, however; this technique need not leave you exposed or vulnerable to Force-attack." Qui-Gon hesitated, his eyes crinkling with wry humor. "I have also found it works well with _dun möch."_

"Taunting your opponent." Obi-Wan remembered the effectiveness of Qui-Gon's comments about Tiran, and he grimaced wryly. 

"We can spar again later, if you like," Qui-Gon offered. "It would be my pleasure to instruct you." 

Obi-Wan hesitated, but he would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity. "Very well, on one condition. I don't want to learn your techniques. I want to learn to defend against them." 

"In case I betray and attack you?" One corner of Qui-Gon's mouth lifted, wry. "You might force me to that, if you're determined enough, just as you forced me to forbid you to leave. But you misunderstand. I have no desire to turn you. I am not a servant of the Dark Side, eager to corrupt others to serve its will. I serve the will of the Force in the moment, whatever it may be. The Force is not one thing or the other, neither light nor dark. It simply is. This is another fallacy of the Jedi. Respecting and using only one side of the Force does not lead to balance." He reached out as if to tweak Obi-Wan's braid affectionately, underlining his point as he had done so many times before when he and his padawan did not see eye to eye. He stopped himself in time, though, abandoning the gesture with a rueful grimace. "I'm sorry. I forgot myself." 

"It's sometimes difficult to remember we aren't who we once were," Obi-Wan admitted. He took his braid and tossed it behind his shoulder, putting it out of Qui-Gon's reach. 

"Yes." Qui-Gon answered softly. He tilted his head thoughtfully. "An idea occurs to me. If you would try to channel your emotion as I do, I think you could achieve a skill you believe is still beyond you. You could complete your mastery of Soresu even to Master Drallig's satisfaction." 

"A padawan cannot master a form. It takes many years of--" 

"You could," Qui-Gon disagreed simply. "One training exercise is all it will take, I think. The emotions you feel now are ones I do not possess in the same measure as you, but I see an application for them, devastatingly effective in Soresu-- and not of the Dark Side." 

"Qui-Gon. My one condition." 

"Soresu is a defensive form. You defend yourself against me emotionally. I can show you how to use your defensive emotions and make you the heart of Soresu." Qui-Gon's simple conviction rang in the Force. "I showed you lust, anger. Dark emotions. Now let me show you control of defense through restraint. Let me show you how to achieve the potential you already have within you. There is nothing dark in it." 

Obi-Wan wavered in spite of himself, the power of Qui-Gon's enthusiasm infecting him. "Well. Perhaps once. But if I feel the Dark Side, I'm stopping the exercise." 

Qui-Gon nodded, already moving to a cabinet, which opened to reveal row upon row of training remotes. He began to power them up-- one after the othe, until fifty hovered in the air, turning and sighting. More continued to rise and hover as Obi-Wan watched him warily. 

"Fifty remotes?" He tried to suppress the squeak in his voice; the numbing charge a tracer beam delivered was not pleasant, to put it mildly-- he had no desire to take so many hits. 

"You'll handle them easily," Qui-Gon promised. "Now we need to generate the right state of mind. It may not be pleasant, but it will help to think of it as a meditation." He hesitated. "What would you do if I touched you intimately?" 

"Shield," Obi-Wan responded honestly. "Shield and disperse emotion, then push you away." There was no point in attempting to deny the passions Qui-Gon stirred in him; the man had felt them. 

"Yes. You would defend against feelings and sensations. You would block me out. But instead of dispersing your emotions and attempting not to feel them, I want you to feel them, then channel your reactions and control them. You will turn the emotions into your center, not direct them away from it. They will ensure I will not overpower you when you push me away." Qui-Gon approached, hands outstretched. "With your permission?" 

Obi-Wan hesitated, but he had come this far and he knew he was beaten-- by his own curiosity, if nothing else. "All right," he said. "But this had better have a more practical purpose than you seeking an excuse to touch my body." 

"It will." Qui-Gon's smile blended amusement and pain. "Assume the first position, but do not ignite your lightsaber yet. You will know when." He moved to the side and tapped at the computer console that drove the remotes, then stepped behind Obi-Wan, invading his space, standing so close Obi-Wan could feel heat radiating between them. His hands hovered over Obi-Wan's collarbones. "We will begin." 

His voice dropped, low and husky. "I am not the man you once knew. It's true, isn't it? You yearn for him to touch you, love you, but I am not him." His hand dipped, sliding inside Obi-Wan's tunic, hard, warm fingers caressing his flesh. "You cannot trust me; I am a seducer. A deceiver. I have told you little and I ask much. I am dark, lost." His fingers found Obi-Wan's nipple ring and tweaked it, shooting liquid lightning to Obi-Wan's cock; his free hand began a long slow slide down Obi-Wan's side toward his flank. "I would bring you with me-- into my bed and into the dark." His voice purred, smoke and honey. Obi-Wan felt his heart race, and he reached for his center, abandoning the search for calm and letting his defensive emotions fill him. His cock stirred but he resisted pushing his body back into the hard cradle of pelvis that shifted to press against his ass. 

"You feel my lust, yes." Qui-Gon's arms pinned Obi-Wan in place as he abruptly thrust against him, the hard ridge of his erection nestling against the cleft of Obi-Wan's ass. "But you resist. I cannot take you; your will is stronger. Master the desire and push it away." His voice throbbed against and through Obi-Wan, who took a shuddering breath, struggling with himself, diving away from the pressure to respond, rejecting the invasive touches, finding balance deep within himself against the incredible strain on his body and his mind. 

"Good," Qui-Gon whispered, lips brushing his ear, tongue wet and hot against his throat. "My hands are on you. Defend against me, or I will bed you by force." His palm cupped against Obi-Wan's groin, one hard, callused thumb sliding along the ridge of his erect cock. "My hands are everywhere, but you resist. The remotes are my hands, my lips, my body. Defend." 

Abruptly he was gone and the air sang. 

Obi-Wan moved without thought, without will, without awareness, barely conscious of the blue cloud that enmeshed him, seeming to float in slow motion. A second passed. Two. Five. It seemed an eternity of slow time passed before the singing stopped and he came to rest, soaked in sweat and dripping, staring at the floor, where not fifty but a hundred or more remotes lay inert. He flexed his muscles cautiously, feeling deep weariness-- but there was no numbness, no lingering sting. Not a single bolt had penetrated his guard. 

He blinked. "What happened?" He could not be sure. 

"I recorded the session so that you could see." Qui-Gon moved to the wall, tapping at a panel there. "Observe at quarter speed." 

Obi-Wan stared at the recording, watching his hands and body explode into pure, efficient motion-- the slightest and most elegant flicker of hand and wrist, the most subtle turn of foot and thigh, creating a devastating defense. His lightsaber was everywhere, a blue blur that encircled him, though he barely seemed to move. He beheld his own effortless anticipation of every bolt and its accurate deflection, an absolute economy of motion and perfection of form, each little red needle sent back to the droid that had released it, each remote bouncing to the deck lifeless. 

"This is what you can do," Qui-Gon said softly, the faint traces of pain still lingering behind his obvious pleasure in Obi-Wan's accomplishment. He began the recording again, full-speed: Obi-Wan's lightsaber, his hands and arms swept into a featureless blur of pure Force, his body nearly stationary. "You are Soresu." 

"Yes, my master," Obi-Wan whispered automatically, amazed and reverent, unthinking, then bit his tongue fiercely, wanting to recall the word. Too late. 

Startled, Qui-Gon drew a single shuddering breath as if inhaling the homage, his eyes closing as he savored it. He stood very still, and Obi-Wan felt deep shame, watching Qui-Gon accept both his unthinking tribute and his earnest desire to retract it. At last Qui-Gon released his breath slowly, bowing his head, and stepped away. 

"You will need rest and food; there should be plenty to tempt you in the galley. The energy expenditure of such an exercise is intense, and it has drained you. We will not spar again today." He paused, eyes hooded, and Obi-Wan could sense the turmoil in him, the pain and the desire. "Forgive me. I must meditate now." Qui-Gon slipped out in haste, leaving Obi-Wan alone. 

"What did that cost you?" Obi-Wan wondered slowly, aloud. His stomach rumbled, insistent, but he ignored it, levitating the remotes back into their cabinets and tidying the salle. Qui-Gon had used every remote he owned-- every remote it took to challenge a master of lightsaber combat. For a student to reach such a triumph through pure and absolute rejection of his teacher? It must require unimaginable humility for Qui-Gon to accept. "Was the reward sufficient?" 

He received no answer. 

Leaving the salle spotless, Obi-Wan sought out the galley, which was as richly stocked as he might have expected. He thought he detected Gida's thoughtful hand in that; nearly every item was carefully tailored to Qui-Gon's palate and his pleasure. A few things, though, must have been added just for him-- his favorite herbal tea, sweets he had enjoyed as a young padawan, slimy orange fruits that Qui-Gon detested and he loved, meats and savories he craved, all set aside in a section of the cooler for convenience. 

He ate until his eyelids drooped, weariness overcoming him, but he paused to clean and stow his dishes and utensils before returning to his quarters. A nap would be just the thing-- yet when he stepped into his room, he realized he was not alone. 

Slitted green eyes regarded him from his cloak and a tawny head rose to inspect him with feline grace, long whiskers twitching. It was a cat, striped like a tabby but much larger, its body stocky and muscular, its powerful jaws and fangs more reminiscent of an arranha than a domesticated feline. It stared at him with unblinking hostility. Qui-Gon had mentioned running with the arranha; it made sense that he would enjoy the company of a feline on solitary missions. Cats were clean and low maintenance, and provided it was fed and watered, it would not suffer from being left alone. An ideal pet for a solitary man, Obi-Wan supposed. 

Perhaps he should go and find Qui-Gon for help in dealing with the animal, which was clearly dangerous, but he did not like to disturb the man at meditation-- and he did not want to show weakness. He reached out with the Force, tentative, to gauge the cat's level of hostility. Its mind was simple and predatory; it owned this territory and it was not best pleased by his intrusion. 

"Hello." He went to one knee but did not advance. "I'm Obi-Wan." He paused, feeling somewhat ridiculous. "You're on my bed." 

The cat growled faintly and kneaded the dark fabric of his cloak between its paws, unimpressed. Its tail lashed, thicker than Obi-Wan's wrist, the black tip twitching with irritation. Warily Obi-Wan eyed the dangerous, thick claws protruding from its velvet toes. They could do a respectable amount of damage. "However, I'm sure you need it far more than I do." 

It seemed to agree, yawning to reveal a truly alarming set of teeth, and Obi-Wan rose, edging around it cautiously. "I'll just sleep here." Obi-Wan indicated the mattress he had originally rejected. "If that's all right with you." 

When he was sure the cat did not mean to attack, he slid into the 'fresher, ducked through a hasty shower, then emerged, still toweling himself. The cat was curled on his cloak, its eyes slitted with contentment. Too drowsy to bother with clothing, Obi-Wan avoided it carefully and lay down. The bed was as comfortable as it looked, and he rolled himself up in the down coverlet, sighing. Sleep took him at once. 

He awakened an indeterminate time later to the sound of tapping at the door. "C'm in," he managed muzzily, blinking at the shaft of light that opened along the floor, Qui-Gon's silhouette appearing at its terminus. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I'm looking for-- there he is." He stepped forward and scooped up the cat matter-of-factly. Against all rational evidence, it let him chuck it under its chin instead of savaging him. "I should have warned you." 

"I'll say." Obi-Wan sat up, belatedly remembering his nudity, and held the coverlet close around him. "For a little whil I thought I was going to have to look for another place to live." 

"This is Chattan. He likes you, or you'd be both bleeding and homeless." Qui-Gon chuckled, rueful. "He doesn't always share spaces easily. Do you?" Another chin-chuck elicited a rumbling purr. "Seriously, though. He's a wildcat, not a domesticated variety. I've developed something of an affinity for felines thanks to the arranhar, and he took up with me when I intercepted a shipment of rare exotics Dramacore intended to exploit for profit. I'm astonished he let you in here at all after taking a fancy to your things; perhaps he's simply a good judge of character." Qui- Gon ruffled the cat's fur affectionately. "You shouldn't try to pet him unless you want to spend time in bacta." 

"I don't think I own a cloak anymore," Obi-Wan commented, very dry. 

"I suspect you're right," Qui-Gon grimaced, apologetic. "But there is an entire closet full of clothing in your size; I anticipated the need for you to come undercover with me." He let the cat flow out of his arms onto the floor. "How do you feel?" 

"Better." Obi-Wan took inventory of himself. "A little sore." 

"You've slept the clock 'round. That's a common side effect, and it's worse at first, until you develop your energy managing skills. It's true of Vaapad, too-- forms such as this consume a great deal of energy, which is required for both controlling the energy flows and compressing the acts of several seconds into one. You do the same thing when you use enhanced speed, only less so." Qui-Gon folded his arms. "I apologize for pressuring you to try it." 

Obi-Wan sighed. "You've done little else than pressure me since I arrived, so don't pretend to regrets you don't feel." He scratched his shoulder. "Regardless of that, we may as well go on as we've begun. You've convinced me of the value of your techniques-- but I don't like them, and I will not attempt to use the Dark Side." 

"You aren't ready for that even if you wanted to." Qui-Gon nodded soberly. "It's much more difficult to control, and the price is higher if you fail." He touched one of the silver streaks in his long hair, rubbing the strands between the pads of finger and thumb. "I was lucky; my instincts told me to channel the excess Force to ground. If I hadn't done it quickly, this could have been much worse. I could have aged a hundred years in a moment or burned holes right through my hands. I might have lost significant skeletal mass or endured any one of a dozen other potential side-effects of calling Force lightning." 

Obi-Wan folded his legs against his chest, keeping the coverlet drawn tight around his body. "I didn't know the Dark Side would turn on a user. I thought it usually turned its destructive power outward." 

"It can do either or both, in unskilled hands." 

"Why did you risk it?" Obi-Wan demanded suddenly. "Using the Dark goes against everything you taught me a Jedi should stand for." 

"I loved you." Qui-Gon responded without hesitation. "I hid it from you, and I had not acknowledged the depth of it even to myself, but the event of your kidnapping instructed me that I loved you without balance or limit, without control or reason, more than my own well-being, more than any number of others. You were more precious to me than my life, worth any risk or price. I was driven to desperation by the Council's intent to leave you unaided, to bow before Dramacore's corruption and negotiate with them rather than stand up and fight. That is what goes against everything the Jedi should stand for, and I would not endure it. I will not endure it." 

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long time, unspeaking. Loved. Past tense. 

"And now?" Very quiet. 

"My feelings have not changed." Qui-Gon straightened his body, his posture mingling dignity and resignation. "Though I understand yours probably have. It is to be expected, given what has happened." 

"I don't know how I feel about you anymore." Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his knees, wishing for his clothing, his bare skin trapping him in the bed and in the uncomfortable conversation. "I loved everything about you then. But I don't know who you are anymore, Qui-Gon. We've only been reunited for a short time, but every word you've spoken and every action you've taken has been calculated to manipulate and use me for your own purposes." 

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed bleakly. "As I have always done. You didn't see, perhaps, before. But that was my method, and it was done to make you a Jedi." 

"I wanted to be a Jedi." Obi-Wan dismissed him impatiently. "When I became your padawan, I agreed to allow you to shape me and help me become one. But now I'm not your apprentice any longer. I don't know what you want from me, or why, or what lengths you would go to in order to get it. I accept that you aren't wholly of the dark. There is more to you than fear or hate, more than self-interest. But that's all I can judge right now." 

Qui-Gon looked at him for a long moment, blue eyes pensive. "That's true, and your distinction between a master and a manipulator is an important one." He cast his eyes down again. "But I have always known that some things are more important than the love between two beings or the pursuit of pleasure. And the matters you touch on now, the secrets you want to know, are the most important I've ever kept. These secrets aren't mine to tell until I can be sure of you, Obi-Wan. There's too much at stake, too many others whose well-being depends on the outcome. 

"I should never have let you go, but I had no choice." He rose, agitated, and began to pace-- a cat in a cage, fierce and controlled. "The man who left you on Lisyl was lost, centerless, and half-devoured by darkness. I could not bear to risk letting that darkness infect you, not after you'd endured so much, not when I was so damaged and confused I couldn't care for you as you deserved. By the time I recovered myself and came to a full understanding of the events that had transpired, I feared I had made a terrible mistake in sending you back to the Jedi. But it was done. It was the will of the Force in that moment, and I obeyed. 

"Tahl's report on your condition soothed my fears. I trusted that Yoda's influence would be adequate to protect you from the decay I perceived in the Order. I thought the foundation of my training and your own wisdom would help you see the same truths I've observed. You always seemed inclined to question the Jedi doctrine of serenity, and that gave me hope. My decision may yet prove well-founded; it's too soon to tell." He subsided into the chair again, broad hands folding over his lap. "I can only trust in the Force and in my belief in you. You'll know what's right when the time comes and you'll see fit to forgive me when you understand." 

He firmed his mouth, lifting his chin. "But if you don't choose to forgive me? That, too, is a price I will pay if I must, Obi-Wan. I serve others before myself, and I will sacrifice my happiness if the Force wills it. Service is why I became a Jedi, and it is why I chose to be celibate, except for the solitary indulgences I use now to help balance my body with my spirit." He scowled at Obi-Wan's doubting expression and raised brow. "No, I've taken no lovers, not even Tiran, much to his discontent." He visibly set aside his embarrassment, calming himself. "I belong to you." 

They sat for a moment in uncomfortable silence, Obi-Wan picking at the corner of his coverlet with fingers that very nearly trembled. 

"I haven't yet abandoned my hopes for a future with you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon stood, his eyes deep, piercing sapphire, fixing Obi-Wan seriously. "And what that future contains will be largely of your choosing. But ultimately, I must admit that the emotions between us are not important, not in the greater scheme of things. They are personal and they are deeply meaningful to me. But they are not important compared to the greater goal I must achieve." 

He paused, his glance keen. "You think I'm a madman." 

"The thought had entered my mind." Obi-Wan put his elbow on his knee and propped his chin on his palm. "I had it a time or two even before Dramacore kidnapped me, I confess. But I require more data before drawing a definite conclusion." He could not help but smile. _Force help me, I'm flirting._

Qui-Gon chuckled, startled into amusement. "I'm glad you're willing to give me enough rope to hang myself." He glanced aside, letting the intensity between them recede. 

_A madman?_ Obi-Wan thought of Windu and shivered. Madman or not, Qui-Gon was at least partly correct about corruption among the Jedi. But something still didn't make sense. Obi-Wan already half-believed in the consequences Qui-Gon claimed were resulting from embargoes by the Trade Federation; anyone could understand the cause and effect relationships in play. If that was all, though, why the need for such secrecy? And as long as he didn't trust Obi-Wan with the truth, Obi-Wan couldn't trust him, either. 

"Join me for breakfast?" Qui-Gon invited at length when the silence stretched, reaching for Obi-Wan's hand, and Obi-Wan felt himself flush. 

"I have to dress first." 

"Oh." Qui-Gon chuckled. "Really, Obi-Wan. I've seen your body before." 

"I don't dispute that," Obi-Wan acknowledged. Between his training and the Dramacore holos, there was little he might do with his body that Qui-Gon had not seen. "But not today." 

"I'll wait outside, then." 

Obi-Wan dressed hastily, and after a moment's thought, left his cloak on the floor for the cat. He stepped out, feeling absurdly shy, and Qui-Gon's greeting smile was so soft it stole his breath like a punch to the gut. 

He fell in at Qui-Gon's side without speaking and they went into the galley, where the cat was occupied with a bowl of meat. It slid an evil, warning stare in Obi-Wan's direction, but Qui-Gon clucked and pointed a finger back at the bowl, and after a moment it resumed eating. 

"He definitely likes you," Qui-Gon commented, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. 

They sat down to cold meat salads, carefully served by the silent kitchen droid. Qui-Gon pulled out a datapad and laid it down between them. "We'll be arriving at our first rendezvous in a few days. Our cover begins there. I've contracted to smuggle medical supplies through the blockade. It could be risky; Nemoidians are easily influenced, but droids aren't, and they like to rely on them." He showed Obi-Wan a schematic of a cargo freighter and of its hideaway compartments. 

"We'll have legal goods through most of the ship with Trade Federation tariff stamps and official documents. If we run into more trouble than we can handle, we'll trigger the freighter's self-destruct and escape in a fighter-- it's a prototype for the upcoming Delta 7 with an added hyperdrive engine mount, but I expect it's not so different from what you're used to. I usually go alone and the fighter isn't designed for two, but it will work in an emergency-- if you aren't too finicky about tight quarters." 

"I've survived worse." Obi-Wan's eyes darkened for a moment with memory, and Qui-Gon laid a hand over his, the man's warm, dry fingers comforting. 

"I'm a man of my word," he said softly. "You know I wouldn't take advantage. At least, not without permission." He chuckled softly-- again the subtle hint of predator in him, the flash of claws. 

"And I can fly a fighter better from your lap than you can fly one sitting in the cockpit all by yourself," Obi-Wan sidestepped. 

"I'll admit I've never had your natural talent for piloting, but you may find I've learned a few surprises since we last were wingmen." Qui-Gon squeezed his hand gently and then released it much to Obi-Wan's mingled relief and disappointment. "Necessity is an effective instructor." He paused. "Would you care to spar with me again today?" 

"Very well," Obi-Wan agreed, hoping his eagerness was not obvious but suspecting that it was. 

Qui-Gon launched at once into full Jedi Master lecture mode. "One of the crucial principles is to understand which emotions will yield beneficial reactions to situations and which will not. You must be selective. Choosing the appropriate emotional response can easily mean the difference between effectiveness and defeat. For example, desperation is rarely an effective emotion to use in focusing combat energies; it tends to assume failure before action is begun and encourages wastage of energy in exhausting and unnecessary extremes. In combat, defensiveness or anger are frequently the primary choices, but exhilaration may also prove productive." He stood to lead Obi-Wan toward the training salle. 

"In battle, most Jedi use anger to a degree without acknowledging it, especially after a comrade is injured or killed. A surge of anger, properly focused, is difficult to control but can be targeted to devastating effect. At times, though, feelings of joy, curiosity, or euphoria may prove equally profitable. The emotions should ideally be based in self, powerful and genuine; the stronger their reality, the more effectively and reliably they summon energy for you to focus. Today, with your cooperation, I'll show you how to apply joy to enhance acrobatic maneuvering in Ataru--" 

Obi-Wan followed him out, shaking his head and laughing to himself ruefully. _When I claim he isn't my master, who do I hope to deceive? Him or myself?_ Another riddle to conquer. 

They spent their days profitably, Obi-Wan accepting Qui-Gon's mentoring in his techniques with occasional ill-grace but with at least some success. He found it hard to free himself to experience unfettered happiness or joy in his old master's presence; defensive emotions such as suspicion and wariness proved easier and more powerful. He could achieve enough joy to enhance his skills, but he never reached the same pinnacle of perfection he had when Qui-Gon helped him master Soresu-- he was still able to duplicate that feat, if he liked, but he had no more breakthroughs of that magnitude. 

"You're too guarded," Qui-Gon finally said, slumping into the lotus and swiping his hair back from his neck. "You don't trust yourself to control the emotions you need to feel. Or perhaps it's me you don't trust." 

"Some of both, I think." Obi-Wan fell back onto the floor mat where he had just spent a frustrating hour attempting to work through the first kata of Ataru to Qui-Gon's satisfaction. "Maybe that's why I did so well when the emotions you required of me were distrust and defense." 

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed thoughtfully. "I think you could generate more aggressive power in Ataru if we worked with less positive emotions, also." He raised a hand to forestall Obi-Wan's protests. "I'm not suggesting we try it. I'm saying they're easier to generate and they produce stronger results with Ataru, which is after all an aggressive form." 

He looked at Obi-Wan seriously for a moment. "Whether or not you plan to use dark emotions for power, you may find yourself doing it in the moment. If you do, remember these urgent differences. You begin by making them your center, but you should not end that way. Negative emotions must be controlled and purged-- if they remain and grow after their usefulness is at an end, that is when you risk the Dark Side. Negative emotions don't want to disperse as readily as positive ones. You may even have to turn your wrath on an inanimate object and exhaust it there. Channel your negative emotion out of yourself when its usefulness is ended. Meditate on calm or serenity as you have been taught. But you must be sure to disperse negative emotions, or they will grow to control you." 

Obi-Wan nodded soberly. "That's what happens to Jedi who turn to the Dark Side." 

"Yes." Qui-Gon nodded. "Use the darker emotions in balance only when it is necessary and obeys the will of the Force. If you use them casually or trivially, you may come to find them addictive." 

"My focus determines my reality," Obi-Wan speculated. 

"Yes. Focus too long in one area, and it begins to define you-- just as rejecting one area may also come to define you." 

Obi-Wan considered this, looking up at the ceiling. "I can see that. I've let my unhappiness over you leaving the Jedi define me more than I realized-- more than was wise." 

"As I let rejection of my sexual nature and denial of my love define me until my center was all but lost-- and I lost my place in the Jedi Order," Qui-Gon agreed quietly. "We all choose focuses that shape us, Obi-Wan. I can tell you've used your unhappiness wisely to motivate your training-- you're more skillful now than I had dreamed. You're obviously ready to be knighted." 

Obi-Wan did not answer, and Qui-Gon hesitated for a long moment, studying him soberly. "Of course." He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling a deep sigh. "I don't know why I didn't realize before. My capture is a condition of your Trials." 

Obi-Wan considered the ceiling for a time in silence. "Yoda would say it isn't. He wants me to achieve understanding of us both and be at peace with what I learn."

"Ah." Qui-Gon nodded. "But others do not agree with him." 

Obi-Wan levered himself to his feet and stretched his shoulders until they popped. He reached out, extending a hand to Qui-Gon, who took it and let himself be pulled upright. He stood there, only a handful of inches from Obi-Wan, their eyes and hands locked. The question hovered between them, unspoken. 

Qui-Gon broke the silence first. "I will fight for my freedom if you force me," he whispered, his voice hoarse with pain. "There is more at stake here than hearts, Obi-Wan. I must do what I believe is right." 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and nodded once, brief. "I, too, must do what I judge best when the moment comes." _Whatever that may be._

Qui-Gon leaned forward very slowly, setting his forehead against Obi-Wan's, and raised his free hand, his fingertips carefully brushing against Obi-Wan's cheekbone. He stilled there, mingling their breath. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and felt the tremble in the man's hand, mirroring the anguish in his own heart. 

Obi-Wan shivered, wanting a kiss so much he ached. But neither man moved; they merely stood there in silence on opposite sides of an unbridgeable gulf of years and goals, taking bitter comfort from the tight clasp of palm to palm and from the warmth of sharing breath and the illusion of closeness it brought. 

A soft klaxon interrupted them after a time that Obi-Wan could not measure; Qui-Gon withdrew upon hearing its low bleat. 

"We're nearly to the rendezvous. You should change clothing and pack for departure; it won't do to advertise that you're a Jedi from now on." 

Obi-Wan did as instructed, choosing a plain black jumpsuit and boots, packing his duffel with a selection of necessaries. He joined Qui-Gon in the cockpit in time for docking. The craft that awaited them was a converted ore barge now used as a combination space station and refuel point for cargo ships. Qui-Gon locked down his ship, ensuring that the kitchen droid was prepared to feed the cat, and led Obi-Wan out into the barge. 

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose at the stench of unwashed beings and dubious foodstuffs, but followed close behind Qui-Gon as his former master guided him through the central promenade to a bay where a large cargo freighter waited, tended by a sparse crew. 

Obi-Wan glanced at the man who guarded the bay, sunk so far down in a folding chair that he seemed ready to topple out of it, hat pulled low over his grease-stained face. He had a stick of spice between his lips, or Obi-Wan would have believed he was asleep. 

Qui-Gon nodded to him brusquely and strode through without pausing; it seemed his face was known. The hatch of the freighter opened to his palm. Obi-Wan glanced around curiously as Qui-Gon consulted cargo manifestos and inspected the hidden compartments. Apparently satisfied, he re-sealed containers and bulkheads. 

"I don't see your fighter prototype," Obi-Wan commented idly. 

"It's mounted belowdecks. There's a breakaway infrastructure down there concealing it from visual inspection. This hatch leads straight into the cockpit." Qui-Gon stepped across the hold to indicate an innocuous-looking panel of floor with a handle recessed inside it. He pulled the handle and an airlock seal cycled. "Get in for a minute and we'll key it to your palmprint as well as mine." 

Obi-Wan obeyed and Qui-Gon leaned down through the hatch to authorize the addition, his hair brushing Obi-Wan's face, threatening to make him sneeze. Obi-Wan looked around the cockpit-- the control panels seemed intuitive enough, not too much different from the Delta Six. He shifted inside the single pilot's seat, estimating volume. It was quite comfortably roomy enough for him on his own, but... "I hope we won't have to run in this thing," he muttered. "You might pour both of us in here if you liquified us first, but you won't get more than a gallon or two extra in afterwards." 

"It'd be tight," Qui-Gon agreed. "I haven't needed to share it before. I hope our luck will hold." 

Obi-Wan levered himself out with minor help and glanced around. "I'm glad you didn't bring the cat; all three of us in there would be entirely too much of a good thing. How are we fixed for sleeping quarters?" 

"One crew cabin with two bunks. I can sleep out here, if you--" 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I am capable of resisting your overwhelming allure in a one-room, two-bunk situation. I did it on missions for years." 

"As I resisted yours," Qui-Gon retorted smoothly. "Settle in as you wish. I'm going to request clearance for takeoff." 

Obi-Wan did, then found his way to the cockpit, strapping in just in time for departure. He watched Qui-Gon calculate the hyperspace jump, blinking with surprise at the coordinates. 

"Naboo?" 

"One of the planets that has fared worst from the Trade Federation blockades." Qui-Gon pulled back the throttle and the stars stretched as the ship hurtled into hyperspace, aimed right into the teeth of the Trade Federation. 

Astonishingly running the blockade gave them no trouble; battle droids might not be susceptible to mind-manipulation, but they were also extremely unimaginative when it came to detecting smugglers, and they signed off on the cargo manifests quickly. 

Obi-Wan was glad for his lightsaber nonetheless. It lay tucked away in an inner pocket Qui-Gon had thoughtfully had included in his civilian clothing. 

The moment he laid eyes on Naboo, his skin began to crawl. The entire place gave him a bad feeling, and it didn't get any better as he and Qui-Gon swung their freighter along its programmed landing arc. The Force was vastly disturbed here, conflict scattered across the globe, and patches were smudged with eddies of deeper evil. He could sense the residue of the Sith Lord who had appeared here, killing the Jedi team assigned to protect Queen Amidala, whose brave but doomed last stand to protect her people had then disintegrated into captivity and finally capitulation. 

As they descended he noted the surface of the planet was mostly idyllic, cerulean oceans and emerald grasslands-- but huge palls of smoke rose from cities and towns, and in places sludge stained the oceans. 

Their course eventually took them over the one-time capital city, Theed, and they settled onto a makeshift landing pad on the edge of the grasslands that abutted the city. The place was mostly rubble with a few hollowed-out towers half-standing, enough to make Obi-Wan think it must have been magnificent in its heyday. 

Now it was a filthy refugee camp. Thousands of citizens milled through the rubble, clustering around the landing field where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan settled their ship-- but they were held out by fences, and when the precious cargo was unloaded, it vanished into hovertrucks and was taken away without being distributed. 

Qui-Gon gazed out toward the fences, his face calm, but his posture belied his seeming serenity. His deliberate gaze invited Obi-Wan to look as well, and Obi-Wan did-- at thousands of pale, smudged faces, fingers twined desperately into the chainlink fence, only a platoon of droids with blasters keeping them from scrambling over the fence to seize the supplies that vanished so rapidly. Many of them had feet and hands bound in bloody rags or bore terrible scars and wounds, and all the expressions were desperate, without hope. 

The emptied carts returned toward the ship and Qui-Gon abruptly went up the ramp; Obi-Wan glanced idly toward the procession, then startled and looked again. That face-- surely he knew it. 

He glanced back toward the fences, strolling idly along the ramp under the belly of the ship, where the tips of the prototype's laser cannons protruded very slightly from the infrastructure, ready for use. Then he wandered back along the other side of the ramp. He had a very good view when the carts descended,and found himself eye to eye with Eekt Do'ha, several years older than Obi-Wan himself, whom he had known distantly in the creche and who had been lost on a mission with his master four years ago, the two of them never heard from again. A nearby Bith, his bulbous head studiously bent over the crate he was shifting so that Obi-Wan could not see his face, was almost certainly Eekt's master Jantak. 

Eekt kept moving, and Obi-Wan gave no sign, continuing on his rambling circuit. Of course Qui-Gon had allies-- but vanished Jedi? That was well beyond what Obi-Wan had expected. His suspicions sharpened, intuition whispering insistently; this was definitely some of the information Qui-Gon was withholding, and Obi-Wan was willing to bet he'd only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg. 

Exactly how many Jedi, former Jedi, and failed Jedi candidates might one rogue Jedi Master call to himself and utilize in a hare-brained scheme to undermine the Trade Federation? Two? A half-dozen? A dozen, hundreds? 

He kept silent when Qui-Gon came down the ramp again, pretending to study the refugees at the fence. 

"We'll be traveling into the city to deliver the last of our supplies to my contact near the royal palace," Qui-Gon murmured. "Bacta powder, mostly-- we can't risk its loss." 

Obi-Wan nodded casually. It would be fascinating to meet more of Qui-Gon's contacts. How many more faces might he recognize? 

"Is it safe?" 

"Hardly." Qui-Gon passed over a belt with a holster that supported a heavy blaster. "This will help deter criminal interest, but when people are so desperate, any evidence of wealth-- or even looking like you don't belong-- can provoke attack. We're expected to wait overnight, though; our cargo isn't ready." 

"Cargo?" 

"Plasma containment crates. There are rich deposits under the oceans. You may have noticed the discolored places in the water during our descent? Those arise where mining operations are excavating plasma from the planet core. Look at the crowds: all humanoid. You won't see any of the native Nubian species in that crowd. They live in underwater cities. They try to defend their homes, but they're slaughtered wholesale. Pairs of their ears are worth a bounty to the Trade Federation. Many of the locals hunt them in hopes of feeding their families." He sighed. "I haven't been able to discover a way to help them." 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You could have shown me these things without bringing me here." 

"There are still sights to be seen." Qui-Gon clapped a hand to his shoulder, pretending joviality. "Let's go up and get our overnight packs." 

They did, collecting the precious bacta packets from the best-hidden of the smuggling bins and concealing them in their gear before they went out. A detail of battle droids escorted them through the crowd. At the entrance it consisted mostly of children waving begging bowls, their slender bodies so thin that every rib and joint showed. 

Many of them were wounded as well. Obi-Wan nearly retched with shock and pity when he spied one horribly disfigured female child with botfly larvae infesting the open wounds on her face. He scrabbled after a ration bar, meaning to give it to her, but Qui-Gon's iron hand caught his wrist before he could withdraw it from his pocket. "You'll provoke a riot. She won't get any and many children will be injured." He shook his head firmly, his eyes cloudy and remote with unhappiness. 

Obi-Wan swallowed hard but his hand emerged from his pocket empty. After an uncomfortable few minutes they made their way clear of the press and began to negotiate the streets. 

The remnants of beautifully carved moldings and cornices scattered the ground and an occasional flowering vine poked up shoots through the rubble, but blaster hits scorched standing walls and a thick sludge of oily smoke had turned most of the city a uniform gray. Obi-Wan spied young men watching them from shadowed alleys, fever-bright eyes following them, but no one was yet desperate enough to attack obviously armed outworlders. 

"We'll need to be indoors by nightfall," Qui-Gon murmured. "Follow me and keep a sharp eye out." 

Obi-Wan did, and they cut a disorderly path through the city, sometimes forced to double back to avoid roadways choked with rubble or decaying bodies. The whole place smelled of death and offal, but despite the reek there were no rats; Obi-Wan suspected they had all been caught and eaten. 

The sun sank alarmingly fast and was already halfway behind the horizon when Qui-Gon ducked into an alley where several arched doorways still stood intact. He knocked on one, delivered a complicated countersign, and he and Obi-Wan were invited indoors by a haggard black man whose battle armor had once featured ornate decorative leather over duranium, but now merely looked to have seen better days. 

"Lord Jinn." 

"Panaka." Qui-Gon inclined his head. "We've brought the medical supplies I promised." 

"Bring them down into the caves." Panaka gestured briskly for them to follow. 

"Have you news of the Queen?" 

Panaka's eyes closed with momentary pain. "They haven't paraded her out for their holos in a long time. I suspect the worst. Once she signed their treaty they didn't need her anymore." 

Qui-Gon laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." 

"We should never have returned here after the vote of no confidence." Panaka sighed. "But she wouldn't listen. She thought the Jedi could protect her. We needed an army, not two men." 

"No one could have anticipated the Sith." Qui-Gon shook his head. "Have the loads arrived on time?" 

"All but one." Panaka glanced warily at Obi-Wan. "Who's he?" 

"My associate." Qui-Gon remained carefully neutral. "Call him Ben. He won't cause any trouble." 

"I hope not." Panaka sounded more jaded than worried. 

I'll look into the missing delivery for you and see what can be done." 

"It's too late for you to make it back to the spaceport before dark," Panaka observed, leading them into a crudely cut tunnel. "The gangs will be out. We'll stash this and I'll put you up in a corner for the night." 

It turned out to be rather more than a corner but rather less than a bedroom, and when Panaka offered dinner, Qui-Gon politely refused. Obi-Wan followed suit, so they wound up eating ration bars while sitting on the floor in their niche-- half carved wall and half natural cave, with a wicked draft and only two worn carpets for bedding. 

Obi-Wan didn't complain, but found himself wishing for the days when he and Qui-Gon would simply have curled up together, sharing body warmth and both carpets. He also wished for his cloak, left to the cat. Wrapping his arms around himself, he devoted a measure of his concentration to raising his body temperature and sat quietly, watching Qui-Gon, who appeared to be doing the same. 

He tried to picture himself fighting the man in earnest, but he could not. His eyes lingered on the lines of the long body instead, on the soft fall of hair, on the way that the light from the single harsh lamp caught in the lens of Qui-Gon's eye, illuminating the deep hues of sapphire in the iris. 

Force help him, but he couldn't afford to revert to the wonderstruck padawan he had been so long ago, smitten with an insane case of lust and hero-worship, blind to Jinn's faults. 

"Who else is helping you?" Obi-Wan asked, surprising himself; he had not intended to speak. 

Qui-Gon blinked at him eloquently, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "In addition to Eekt and Jantak, to be precise. How many more?" 

"I don't know what you mean." 

"You're working with Jedi who are missing, presumed dead, and you don't know what I mean." 

"You must be mistaken." A note of obstinate resistance threaded into Qui-Gon's tone. 

"Very well. You've just confirmed that you're working with an unknown number of Jedi, I hope you realize." Obi-Wan tamped down his annoyance. "Obviously, you're all working in a concerted effort to distribute humanitarian aid behind the Trade Federation blockades." 

"I can't hide a thing from you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was mild, and the note of amusement in it rankled the hell out of him. 

"Not for long you can't!" he answered hotly. He rose and began to pace. "I'll find out what you're hiding. You wanted me to come with you and to report your position back to the Council. But you could have showed me everything we've seen without ever setting foot off Xinune. I'll admit that I pity these people now that I've seen them. I never liked the idea that the Jedi should work with the Trade Federation; half the Order already thinks we should take aggressive measures to reverse these treaties and end the blockades. You don't need me for that." 

"Only half?" Qui-Gon inquired mildly. 

"This place feels like a den of slithering snakes. Not specifically this alcove," Obi-Wan responded to Qui-Gon's raised brow. "The whole city. The whole planet. Everything I touch, every breath I draw into my lungs, every current of the Force." 

"The Dark Side is strong here," Qui-Gon agreed. He watched Obi-Wan intently. "What do you sense?" 

"Suffering, mostly. Distortion of the Living Force." 

Qui-Gon considered him for a long moment, then slid near, carefully not touching. "Reach out with your feelings," he suggested. "Let your mind drift. Think of your distrust and focus in it. Let it guide you, let it disperse, and follow where it leads. Tell me what you feel." 

Obi-Wan did so, his breath slowing as he relaxed, spreading into the Force, feeling its soiled tendrils play across his skin and following them toward their source. "Pleasure in pain. Deception. Power." His voice was low, and he felt almost drugged. "Greed. Hatred. Poisonous, murderous hatred. Never-ending rage--" His throat was raw and burning with the intensity of it, the Force sucking at him, a maelstrom of darkness swirling, all-powerful, around and into that horrible hate, face seared red and black around burning yellow eyes-- 

"Come back." Warm arms caught him hastily, grounding him and pulling him back to his body. "Before he senses you." 

"What the hell was that?" Obi-Wan gasped, struggling out of his trance. He felt soiled to his core. 

"A Sith," Qui-Gon said simply. "The one who has the Queen, I think, and who murdered the Jedi that protected her." 

Obi-Wan shuddered, turning his face against Qui-Gon's shoulder without thinking. 

"I want you to do something for me," Qui-Gon's voice was sober. 

"Yes?" 

"Remember this touch of true darkness. Burn it into your mind, every nuance." Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon's face, which was set and closed, carefully neutral. "A time may come when you need to know the dimensions of true evil, the length and breadth and depth of it. Do not be deceived by its pale shadow. Think then of that pure hate, that pure rage-- let it be your measure of the dark." Obi-Wan could not read Qui-Gon's aura, could not discern his emotions as he sat and stared into the shadows. 

"What are you going to do?" Obi-Wan whispered, unformed presentiment gathering in his mind, swift and choking like a child's night-terror. 

"What I must." Qui-Gon's lips ghosted against his temple, barely there. "Rest here with me, while we may?" 

Obi-Wan's arms stole around Qui-Gon and Qui-Gon's cheek settled to press against his hair, chaste and undemanding. Together they stared into the darkness and waited for the morning. 

Eventually Obi-Wan must have slept; he awakened, stiff and shivering, when Qui-Gon's arms shifted around him. "It's time," the older man spoke. "We have to be going. Let's move swiftly." 

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet, hastily trying to stretch some of the stiffness out of his limbs, and fell in behind Qui-Gon as they slipped silently out of the catacombs and back up toward the street, tiptoeing past the sleeping bodies of Panaka and his allies. Obi-Wan stepped out into the alley first, glancing about, alert. The sun was rising, luminous rays slanting into the alleys and the rubble, catching a haze of smoke and turning everything to liquid gold. It was strange how nature could take nearly any amount of sentient destruction and transmute it into forms of beauty. 

His attention was caught by a sudden rumble; a heavy cruiser was making planetfall, surrounded by a swarm of fighters and escort craft including multi-troop transports for battle droids. 

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan called. "Look-- I think that's the Supreme Chancellor's personal transport." 

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed softly. "It is." He stepped up and put his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I need you to trust me now, Obi-Wan. You must allow me to control your mind." 

Obi-Wan blinked at Qui-Gon, the lambent, warm light of dawn rich in his long hair, gilding the rough planes of his face. "What? Why?" He took a rapid step back, hand falling to the hilt of his lightsaber. 

"This is why we're here. I'll hurt you as little as I can and release you as quickly as possible afterward. But I can't do otherwise." Qui-Gon's voice was gentle and his eyes sad, but there was a cool intent to his expression, and Obi-Wan knew he meant what he said. 

"Have I lied to you, Obi-Wan? I will release you soon. I give you my word." Qui-Gon's voice rasped in his throat, low and terrible with pain. "Don't make me force you in this. If you retain any part of the love you once had for me, do not." 

The Force sang warning between them, icy-cold with chill, heavy with the Dark Side, the urgency of the moment hammering at Obi-Wan. He could not read the currents. Qui-Gon was right; he had not lied, not yet. Misdirected, manipulated, and let implications lie for him, but he had spoken no lies to Obi-Wan. Given the closeness they had shared and the bonds that lay dormant between them, Qui-Gon could probably lever his way through Obi-Wan's shields and crush them if he resisted-- or they might destroy each other in the attempt at attack and defense. That kind of psychic damage could take years to heal, if it ever did. Obi-Wan swallowed, his mouth dry, hearing his throat click. 

To trust, or not. That simple-- the ultimate test of his insight into Qui-Gon Jinn and into darkness. 

"I accept your word," Obi-Wan said softly. He let his hand fall from the hilt of his blade and dropped his shields. Trembling, he submitted his mind to the man who had once been his beloved master. 

Qui-Gon focused on him for a moment and Obi-Wan could see him centering, touching the Force-- then his world imploded, his mind clenched in a grip like a vise, terrible and dark. He gasped. Qui-Gon's face was cold, remote, only his eyes hot, his hand extended with fingers touching Obi-Wan's temple, the same skin his lips had kissed so recently. The inexorable pressure of the man's will drove Obi-Wan to his knees, then to his face in the street, where he groveled, shuddering, scrabbling frantically inside his mind for a chink in the prison, for some way to retain ownership of himself. Qui-Gon's leather boots felt cold against his cheek. 

"You will come with me," Qui-Gon was saying, the words thundering through Obi-Wan's brain, reverberating in agony as he heard them with both mind and ears. "You will do as I say. You will move as I say. You will not resist. You are completely mine." 

Obi-Wan whimpered, unable to keep himself from struggling against the shield of dark energy that overwhelmed his will, shoving against it so hard his vision began to recede in a roar of gray sparkles, but to no avail. The sparkles coalesced over his vision and the roar drowned out all sensation, all hearing, all pleasure and pain, leaving only the master's voice, which possessed him. 

*****

"Two steps behind me," Qui-Gon directed. "Follow." 

He set forth toward the palace, Obi-Wan trotting mechanically after. 

They reached the plaza as a shuttlecraft descended. Several shiploads of battle droids already lined the avenue, blasters in hand, and the inevitable holodroids-- Dramacore, always Dramacore-- zipped and buzzed about, seeking the ideal angle. Qui-Gon ignored them, working his way through the crowd with Obi-Wan at his heels, keeping a firm grasp on Obi-Wan's mind. There would be time later to pay the consequences of what he had done and of what he was about to do. He could only thank all the little gods that Obi-Wan's voluntary submission had allowed him to reduce the cost to an acceptable level. 

The Supreme Chancellor emerged from his shuttle, smiling over the crowd, projecting benevolent wisdom. "Citizens of Naboo, my people, I bring good news! I have spoken with the Trade Federation leaders and the breakdown of our talks is at an end. In mutual hopes of a new and fair trade agreement, they have allowed me to bring food and medicine--" 

The ecstatic roar of the crowd drowned him out. Palpatine continued to speak, raising tolerant hands for silence. Qui-Gon dismissed his words; they were meaningless, fodder for the holovids. He tilted his head up, seeking the small, inevitable Dramacore ship. He would settle the score with them later, if there was time. 

He reached the bottom of the elaborate stair that still fronted the courtyard in spite of the destruction of the monuments and ceremonial buildings that surrounded it. It made the perfect stage for Palpatine's message of renewed hope, and the golden morning sunlight seemed to give the man a halo as it caught in his white hair. 

Qui-Gon gazed up at Palpatine serenely, feeling himself noticed and catalogued, the dark Force curling and stretching lazily out toward him, its interest in him subtle but perceptible. 

The speech ended and uniformed guards began setting up a food distribution center as Palpatine shook hands with what now passed for the local bureaucracy-- puppets and figureheads, all of them essentially powerless, mouthing platitudes. Qui-Gon leisurely led Obi-Wan up the stair, now an easy task as the focus of the guards redirected to the shifting crowd, so eager for nourishment they threatened to overwhelm those who prepared to provide it. 

He had to Force-push a guard halfway up the stair, and Palpatine turned at that moment, gaze sliding past him without apparent recognition, but after that Qui-Gon's progress eased, the guards taking no further notice. Soon he and Obi-Wan stood atop the dais. Folding his arms, he waited. 

He was not disappointed. 

"Former Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, I believe?" The Supreme Chancellor was not tall, slightly shorter than Obi-Wan, and stout. The man's voice was as oily as the tendril of Force that touched Qui-Gon, testing him. "One of the Lost Twenty. And friend. A young Jedi, if I'm not mistaken. How very interesting to see a rogue Force user and a Jedi keeping company together." Palpatine's focus narrowed to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon worked to keep the beat of his heart in check, calm and serene, as the man probed Obi-Wan for information, raising a brow to find him locked within Qui-Gon's will. 

Qui-Gon looked askance to Obi-Wan, tilting his head slightly. "Attend me." Obi-Wan stepped up swiftly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Padawan Kenobi and I have reached a special agreement." Qui-Gon spoke smoothly, watching the speculative gleam in Palpatine's eye, and covered Obi-Wan's hand with his own. 

"I can see you have. It's most fortuitous that you're both here today on this auspicious occasion for the future of Naboo." The Chancellor's smile sharpened. "I've been watching your career with considerable interest, Jinn. Would you care to join me on my yacht while the supplies are distributed?" 

"I had hoped we might conduct business together. I believe I can identify several mutual interests," Qui-Gon spoke calmly. "Come, Obi-Wan." 

They followed Chancellor Palpatine up the ramp into the shuttle-- which really was more of a yacht; it made Qui-Gon's own lavish transport look plain and ill-furnished. Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan struggling against his control and reinforced his domination, drawing the young man up next to him and settling his palm behind his neck. Physical contact eased the path to mental contact. He could sense Obi-Wan's confusion, pain, and fear, and again pushed him under as carefully as he dared with Palpatine looking on-- it would not do to let his control waver. Not now. 

"Take a seat," Palpatine invited him, snapping his fingers for a servant, who stepped up to pour rich red wine and hand it to the three of them-- Palpatine first, Qui-Gon noted. Qui-Gon sniffed its rich bouquet, appreciating the vintage, but did not touch his lips to the glass. Obi-Wan simply held his, awaiting command. 

Qui-Gon hesitated politely until Palpatine seated himself in one of the rich brocade armchairs, then selected one of his own. 

"Kneel before me, Jedi." He made the final word an insult as he snapped at Obi-Wan, who obeyed instantly, smoothly. "All fours." He put his feet up, crossing his ankles and resting his legs atop Obi-Wan's back. Palpatine gave him an enigmatic smile. 

"How extraordinary." Palpatine pretended disinterest for a moment and wet his finger in the scarlet fluid inside his glass, then ran his fingertips along the rim, dragging a low, resonant note out of the crystal. "I wonder if you've heard news of my recent acquisition." He looked at Qui-Gon over his sharp nose, eyes ice cold. 

"Indeed I have," Qui-Gon pretended to drink. "And may I congratulate you on your business acumen? I'm sure owning a holovid company will prove convenient in keeping the public informed about your career." 

"It's always convenient to buy when stock values are low. But it is not convenient to own a company if its assets continue to drain away." Palpatine savored a mouthful of wine. "It troubles me that my investment continues to meet with ill-fortune. I must confess, I shouldn't think anyone would have a lingering need to entertain a personal grudge against Dramacore and its subsidiaries." 

"A point well-taken." Qui-Gon shifted his weight lazily. 

"I am sure that if you act wisely, you will continue to prosper." Laser-sharp, Palpatine's stare bored holes in him. "And when businesses prosper, there is no limit to what can be done, wouldn't you agree?" 

"None at all." Qui-Gon reached, lazily lacing his fingers into Obi-Wan's short, soft hair. "As you notice, my own circumstances have markedly improved in recent times." 

Palpatine gazed at Obi-Wan, who knelt motionless, head down. "Indeed. May I congratulate you on your personal assistant?" 

This was good, but it was not enough. Fingers tightening, Qui-Gon shook Obi-Wan softly. "He is quite satisfactory, isn't he? Of course, he does represent a regulatory body, and they can be a problem." 

"An endless problem." Palpatine chuckled lightly. "One you seem to have well-in-hand at the moment." 

"Such problems are unpredictable unless kept firmly in check." Qui-Gon put on an expression of sly avarice. "Which isn't as difficult as some would have it." He let his smile stretch. "I've been looking for a chance to diversify and switch my theater of operations to more profitable work. Perhaps in enforcement. I find it is a particular talent of mine." He turned Obi-Wan's face toward him, studying him with elegant deliberation and running his thumb over Obi-Wan's lips. A flick of his mind made Obi-Wan begin to kiss his fingers, fawning. For Palpatine's benefit, Qui-Gon let himself savor the sight and the sensation of Obi-Wan's mouth and tongue caressing his fingertips. 

"I'm not aware of any positions that are open in that area at this time." Palpatine took another sip of the wine, the beam of a recessed light catching in the glass, making the fluid glow blood-red. "But it always pays to keep a careful eye on the future." He watched Qui-Gon enjoy Obi-Wan's caresses. "The youngster is truly exquisite. Is he who I think he is?" 

"He was Yoda's padawan. They sent him out after me to finish his Trials. Now he's mine." 

"I must say, you know how to make powerful enemies." Palpatine raised an amused brow, draining the last swallow of wine and extending his glass to be refilled. 

"Yoda doesn't concern me." Qui-Gon tilted his head, letting one corner of his mouth curl. "I have power he can't begin to comprehend." 

"Do you." Palpatine's lips curved with amusement. "I would be most interested in a practical demonstration. But I'm afraid my other affairs are pressing; we must meet again someday when there is more time." 

Was it enough? It would have to be enough; he could not refuse the dismissal. He stood, offering the Supreme Chancellor a faint bow. "I look forward to it. Come." He snapped his fingers and Obi-Wan rose, falling in quietly behind him as they departed. 

He didn't like the sound of Palpatine's penultimate comment; the more he thought on it, the more his stomach sank. It had the tone of a threat, and such a thing would amuse the Sith. If Qui-Gon failed in a practical demonstration of skill, Palpatine would not have incurred a loss, but if Qui-Gon triumphed, he would rise in the man's estimation and wouldbe considered more seriously in the future. 

A demonstration was almost certain to be required. 

He hastened their pace and when they passed out of Palpatine's line of sight, he hastily turned to Obi-Wan, drawing him aside into the mouth of a convenient alley. 

He slid one arm around Obi-Wan's waist, arranging him to lean against Qui-Gon's shoulder, and then slowly withdrew his mental control. 

***** 

Obi-Wan's will surfaced; he gasped, thrashing awkwardly. If Qui-Gon had not been holding him he would have fallen as command of his muscles passed back to him. It took him several seconds to reclaim his synapses and to coordinate them. His glazed eyes began to clear, snapping wide with shock. 

"The Supreme Chancellor is a--!" 

"Shh." Qui-Gon covered his mouth hastily with one palm, silencing the imprudent yelp. "We've got to get out of here, Obi-Wan. I believe he'll send his apprentice after us to test my boast. Are you able to run?" 

"I-- yes. I can run." Obi-Wan licked his dry lips. 

"Good." Without another word, Qui-Gon darted out of the alley, blurring into Force-enhanced speed, and Obi-Wan fell in behind him, matching him step for step. Fear worked well to enhance this skill, and he had no trouble keeping up. Obi-Wan's mind was exploding, more from the revelation of knowledge than lingering trauma from Qui-Gon's mental possession. Every step brought another insight into precisely how much trouble this meant for the Jedi and the Republic as a whole, and how impossible it would be ever to remedy a political situation gone so sour. 

Obi-Wan became aware of the shrill sound of rending metal, and as they rounded the corner to their landing area, he could see the fighter prototype pulling free of its housing, hovering in wait for them, its cockpit canopy still rising. Qui-Gon vaulted in and Obi-Wan followed hastily-- he could feel the brooding evil that regarded them drawing to a focus. The Sith apprentice was hunting them, its will seething through the Force with pure malevolence. 

There was no time for delicacy. He landed full in Qui-Gon's lap, easing the impact by catching the sides of the cockpit, then scrunched himself down to permit the canopy to seal. The fighter leaped for the sky almost before the latches locked down. Qui-Gon's arms slid around him to work the controls and Obi-Wan spat a soft curse-- "Force take it, give those to me--" and took over. He hated flying, but he was better than Qui-Gon and they both knew it. 

Obi-Wan felt the shockwave from the freighter's auto-destruct jar the city behind them, but it was not powerful enough to skew the fighter's course as they shot skyward. He reached for his center, extending his senses into the Force, making the fighter a part of him-- escape would not be easy. 

"A ship has launched from one of the droid control ships," Qui-Gon murmured. "Nothing shows on the sensors." 

"I can feel it." Obi-Wan wrenched the prototype around, testing its maneuvering thrusters by evading an incoming police patrol ship. Qui-Gon shut down the ship's comm to silence its hail. 

"Can you start calculating a hyperjump?" 

"Not until we have a vector." Qui-Gon reached between Obi-Wan's thighs and switched on the navicomp. "Pardon me." 

"By all means." Obi-Wan ignored him, feeling for the Sith with all his senses, and found the roiling black swirl of energy that awaited them. The sensors still said it wasn't there, but he knew better. 

"I think you should invest in a bigger ship next time," Obi-Wan grunted, trying to settle his feet. 

"But how would I hide it?" Qui-Gon pushed himself as far back in the seat as he could. "Better?" 

"Better." Obi-Wan finally managed to settle himself over Qui-Gon's long thighs, tucking his feet in behind the bigger man's ankles. His knees jammed uncomfortably against the ship's control panel and his ass pressed up tight against Qui-Gon's pelvis. He felt Qui-Gon lean to the right and wedge his chin over Obi-Wan's shoulder in an effort to see. 

"You knew this was going to happen," Obi-Wan accused him. 

"I admit it was a statistically significant possibility." 

"I don't know whether to be angrier about that or about you putting your feet up on me." 

"You'll have your revenge if we're in this cockpit for more than a couple of hours. You're heavy." Qui-Gon triggered the shields. "Can you sense his armaments?" 

"I get a feeling we'd better not test our shields against them." 

"I can supplement our shields." 

"That might be a good thing." Obi-Wan jigged the fighter left, barely dodging two thin lances of laser fire. "Those looked like ionization beams." 

He felt Qui-Gon draw a deep breath and fell silent, letting the man focus. He closed his eyes, questioning the Force. It guided him away from the planet and Obi-Wan followed its lead, kicking in all sublight thrusters while ducking behind one of the three moons. It would serve for a few moments of shelter. "Got those coordinates?" 

"Not yet." Qui-Gon tapped at the computer again. "Try not to--" 

Obi-Wan jerked the yoke viciously, barely avoiding two more green needles. "--execute any sharp maneuvers." 

Obi-Wan weaved afresh as the Sith ship fired again. He jerked the nose down into a power dive toward the surface of the moon and pulled out at the last minute, spinning into a brutal barrel roll through a mountain pass. The evasive action momentarily threatened to overwhelm on-ship gravity and G-forces dragged at him, pushing him harder into Qui-Gon's lap. 

"We need more time," Qui-Gon grunted with a certain amount of discomfort, which Obi-Wan might have enjoyed if he weren't so busy. 

"I can only buy so much; that Sith's a damn good pilot. Won't this ship go any faster?" 

Qui-Gon hesitated. "That's a qualified yes." 

"Qualified?" 

"I can make it go faster if you can maneuver in synch with my speed enhancements. You've handled enhanced speed, but you never mastered the enhanced acrobatics we tried with Ataru, and the principle is similar--" 

"Believe me, I can be as joyful as you like as long as I'm still alive!" Obi-Wan flung them out of the path of two more ionization beams, jigging and dodging as the Sith struggled to home in. 

"Then I suggest you open to me and let joy fill your mind." Qui-Gon's voice was tart. 

They fell silent, and Obi-Wan opened himself, curling part of his mind around Qui-Gon. He sank that portion of his consciousness into Qui-Gon's as the other man's mind reached out. Obi-Wan disciplined himself not to pull away, and they meshed uneasily at first, then with more certainty, rapidly finding something of the ease they had cultivated in the training bond they had once shared. 

_Now._

Obi-Wan pulled the yoke back as hard as it would go, trying to circle and fall in behind the Sith ship to gain time, and reached out to center himself. Joy. Joy had once meant Qui-Gon, had once meant a certain half-suppressed smile and the pleasure in his eyes as Obi-Wan completed a difficult kata. Obi-Wan had almost levitated himself spontaneously the first time he saw that expression on Qui-Gon's face, the sheer pride of having pleased his master making him want to soar. 

He opened himself to the memory, dodging and weaving subconsciously, feeling the ship begin to kick forward. He pulled away from the moon as they accelerated too fast for him to maneuver there, and he cast out for the only cover the Force offered, dancing lightly on remembered joy. It felt like tapdancing on an avalanche. 

"Toward the sun?" Qui-Gon gasped, voice strained. 

"Augment the shields," Obi-Wan hissed. "It's the only way out." 

Red radiance blazed through his closed eyelids as they shot forward, and he reached out with all his concentration, letting himself feel Qui-Gon behind him, imagining the pride and the smile he would see on that familiar, beloved face when he succeeded. It filled him with happiness that expanded in him, a glowing brightness almost as piercing as the sun that was rapidly growing to block their entire viewscreen. 

The Sith was still behind them, falling back, but stubborn in his pursuit. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's arm move between his thighs again, programming the navicomp. "Take her here," Qui-Gon fed him the coordinates through the Force and Obi-Wan fixed them in his mind. "I'll set the coordinates for this vector." 

"Incoming solar flare," Obi-Wan whispered, perfectly at peace. "Hang on." 

They were still accelerating, nearing the light barrier, when the magnetic wind caught them and buffeted the ship viciously, plasma curling and discharging along the fuselage. Qui-Gon tensed and Obi-Wan felt him muster more power, struggling to maintain speed and also to shield them from the growing radiation and heat. Obi-Wan had no concentration to spare, sunk deeply into the Force, stretching himself to the utmost edge of his capacity. They rode the crest of the wave, ionization sparking in their wake as they fought the flow, then twisted down, twining a tight circuit around the coronal mass ejection that followed the flare, Obi-Wan deftly manipulating the gravity field generated by its mass against the greater gravity field of the sun. 

The temperature climbed, but still the Sith followed, dogging their path, using Obi-Wan's wake for guidance. 

Obi-Wan was sweating now and the cockpit was growing hot. He could feel Qui-Gon's breath, harsh and damp against his shoulder, as the man strained to channel away the heat and radiation while still maintaining their velocity. 

"Just a little longer!" Obi-Wan whispered. He could see their path very clearly. 

The magnetic currents caught them, tumbling them like a leaf in the wind, and Obi-Wan forgot everything but the joy of the yoke in his hands, unconscious of anything but the magnetic currents and the dance he weaved among them. The turbulence caught the Sith moments later and the two ships fell toward the surface of the sun, sucked in by the intense gravity well. 

Still Obi-Wan danced, the yoke an extension of his arms, his mind alight with happiness-- not only the imagined joy of Qui-Gon's past and future approval, but the thrill of nestling against the man's big, powerful body, feeling the heat of him, feeling the sheer pleasure of working mind to mind with him, united as they once were, master and student-- as _right_ as it had ever been, as it always would be. 

Obi-Wan felt his joy glow as intensely as the photons around them, even though the gravity field had them and they were now skirting the ship through the flaring, pulsating fringe of the corona. He very nearly groaned aloud, one with the throbbing power that bucked and surged and crested around them. "Wait for it," he whispered, every nerve sparking with life. The tips of the fighter's wings were turning dull red, the transparent steel cockpit canopy starting to burn Obi-Wan's forehead. 

Lacking the sheer power two united Jedi could draw, the Sith fighter fared worse, fire sparking and flaring over its sleek lines, the tips of its ionization cannons melting white and dripping as it tumbled farther and farther away, falling deeper inside the sun. 

_"Now!"_ Obi-Wan reached for Qui-Gon, directing his strength in a whipcrack burst, and slewed the fighter just a critical few meters to the side, where another tongue of the solar flare surged and caught them, bucking them upwards and spitting them out of the sun entirely. 

The Sith pilot did not manage it; his melting ship fell away, vanishing, lost in the white-hot energies of the photosphere. 

Obi-Wan felt it go, but did not pause to acknowledge his triumph, still fighting the vicious pull of gravity as it tried to re-capture them and drag them back down. He ducked and slewed along the bubbling protrusion of the flare, the ship juddering viciously around them as he finally slung the ship around the flare and coaxed the disc of the sun between them and Naboo, Qui-Gon's coordinates drew close, closer-- _THERE._

Obi-Wan hauled back the throttle with an eager sensation of abandon almost akin to orgasm, and the furious pulsating energies he channeled evaporated abruptly as they edged across the light-speed barrier into the Force-barrens of hyperspace, leaving him to collapse sweat-soaked and gasping in Qui-Gon's lap, his closed eyes seared with brightness. 

Qui-Gon was breathing heavily too. Their clothes were wringing wet between them and Jinn had one arm wound tight around Obi-Wan's middle as if to keep him from tumbling out of an open vehicle. 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and stared out through the canopy, his forehead pressed uncomfortably against the transparent steel, the angle threatening to put a crick in his neck. He pulled his mind back inside himself as Qui-Gon did the same, leaving a faint hollowness to echo in Obi-Wan's thoughts. 

"That was pure transcendent brilliance, Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan could hear the smile he had envisioned and he flushed with unexpected pleasure. "Impossible, intense, exhilarating." Qui-Gon's voice rumbled through him, the words in his broad chest resonating all through Obi-Wan, shivering him to his bones. 

"Yes," Obi-Wan murmured. "Let's never do it again." 

They both dissolved into helpless laughter, and Obi-Wan allowed his head to fall back onto Qui-Gon's shoulder. They laughed together until Obi-Wan's breath failed him. "I couldn't have done it without you." 

"Nor I without you." Qui-Gon's smile was still audible in his voice, and Obi-Wan felt his heart flutter as he became acutely aware of Qui-Gon's physical presence-- the hard thighs under his, the strong, deep chest that had just vibrated so sensuously against him, letting him feel Qui-Gon's crushed-velvet voice in a way he never had before. The heat at the core of Qui-Gon, where Obi-Wan's bottom nestled-- Obi-Wan realized suddenly that he was erect, and had been since before the Force released him when they made the jump to hyperspace. One of Qui-Gon's big, broad hands lay on his thigh, almost touching Obi-Wan's disobedient flesh, the other arm wrapped around his belly, and his palm nestled over Obi-Wan's hipbone. 

Obi-Wan inhaled with sudden self-consciousness; his mind was his own once more, but there could be no withdrawing from this physical closeness. He stared up through the canopy, his head still tipped back on Qui-Gon's shoulder, catching his lower lip between his teeth. He reached down and caught Qui-Gon's wrist, moving the big hand unobtrusively away from the throbbing problem in his lap. 

Qui-Gon drew breath quietly, no doubt preparing to tell him that this particular adrenaline-soaked post-battle reaction was perfectly natural under the circumstances and to offer ever-so-polite assistance in dealing with it. Obi-Wan forestalled him hastily. There were more important things to consider. 

"How long have you known about the Supreme Chancellor?" 

Qui-Gon shifted a little, his focus obviously redirecting, and Obi-Wan allowed himself a flicker of relief. 

"I began to suspect shortly after his elevation to the post he now holds. I've been investigating him for some time." 

"He owns stock in Dramacore?" 

"He owns the entire company at this point, operating through a variety of subsidiary corporations that own stock. The convoluted trail of documents and dummy companies took time to trace." Qui-Gon sighed. "His purchase made today's confrontation inevitable; it's little secret that I have made myself a formidable enemy of Dramacore." 

"My coming to you when I did was convenient, then." 

"Very. The Jedi must be told of this, Obi-Wan. I apologize for the secrecy, but it was necessary. If I had only told you, if you hadn't seen for yourself, it wouldn't have been enough to make the Council believe. You might not have believed me yourself-- you could have tried to escape instead of following me to Naboo." 

"This is going to put a fox in the henhouse, all right." Obi-Wan said slowly. "I'm not sure they'll listen even now. He was very vague." 

"You have the feeling of the evil you encountered, all that you heard, and the proof that he sent his apprentice to pursue us. Some will believe. Yoda will believe, and that plus the suspicion of others should tip the balance." 

Obi-Wan hesitated, biting his lip. The Unifying Force whispered at him, insistent. "We just left a Sith Lord in need of a new apprentice." 

"Yes." Mild and neutral. 

"I absolutely forbid you to do what you're thinking." 

Qui-Gon's lips touched his throat and lingered there softly for a long moment, but he did not speak. 

"Damn it, Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan tried to turn to see his eyes, but could not rotate far enough. 

"I set our course to punch through the core and terminate on Altakan. From there, you can make your way to Coruscant in a matter of hours." Qui-Gon spoke calmly. "When the Jedi come for Palpatine, I will assist in any way I can." 

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyelids shut, feeling a prickle of moisture threaten to rise and well over. "Come with me instead," he whispered, agonized. "You mustn't attempt this, master." He let himself say the word his heart would always equate to this man, freely and without begrudging it this time, though he already knew that even he could not sway Qui-Gon Jinn from his chosen course. 

"I must. The Force has shown me its will." Qui-Gon kissed him again, lips trailing softly against the cord of his throat. "I'm sorry, my Obi-Wan." He dropped his shields. 

Obi-Wan gasped, overwhelmed, as Qui-Gon Jinn opened himself fully, no barriers in his mind, no secrets left between them: love and love and love in his heart, all for Obi-Wan-- and yet, for all the immeasurable love he held for Obi-Wan, his devotion to the Force was even greater. 

"I don't give a damn about my knighthood, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan insisted. "If you go to him, he'll kill you or turn you." 

"Those are statistically significant possibilities," Qui-Gon observed with wry humor. "But it's also probable that I can kill him-- or weaken him enough that others may. We must trust that it will be enough." 

"Then let me go with you. I can send a transmission to Yoda--" 

"No." Immediate and absolute. "It is not the will of the Force, Obi-Wan. You must come for me when the time is right." 

"I will," Obi-Wan vowed. "I won't fail you." Silently he cursed the ship, the fragile cradle that preserved them, but which also kept him from turning to bury himself against Qui-Gon's chest and hold him. 

Force, he'd been a blind fool, obsessed by his pride and his jealousy, stiff-necked with prideful mistrust founded on injured feelings that he should have dealt with long years past. 

He knew his master's heart and soul now-- his heart pure love for Obi-Wan, his soul pure Jedi at the core, perhaps the purest Obi-Wan had ever known. 

There might never be another chance to accept the gift that Qui-Gon offered. 

Abandoning his pride, Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon's hand to his face, pressing his lips to the center of the palm, tasting the salt of Qui-Gon's skin. Again and again, lips clinging and caressing, half-mad with desperation and regret-- Obi-Wan ran his tongue along the crease of the palm, making Qui-Gon gasp, nipped the mound at the base of the thumb. Qui-Gon's callused hand molded to his face, fingertips burrowing softly into Obi-Wan's short beard. 

Obi-Wan sank his teeth lightly at the edge of Qui-Gon's palm, lashes closing. His master's breath puffed hot on his throat, ragged and needy. 

"Please," Obi-Wan moaned. "Please touch me." He shifted his hips urgently, feeling Qui-Gon swell beneath him. 

Qui-Gon's free hand burrowed into Obi-Wan's leggings, closing around him at last. Obi-Wan moaned, lifting to thrust into the clasp of that hot, strong hand, then pressing back down into Qui-Gon's lap where hardness waited, pushing his hips against Qui-Gon's thickening shaft. He squirmed to circle them over it, making Qui-Gon groan deep in his throat, then pushed up again, his body thirsting. 

He had not wanted sex for many years, not even from his own hand-- not since he escaped from Dramacore and their drugs. But now his body craved Qui-Gon, and he rode the keen edge of desire, honed all the sharper by his frustration with the cramped quarters. 

"Please," he moaned as Qui-Gon's thumb circled the crown of his erection, sliding slickly in the fluid that welled there. "Master, my master!" he keened, all but weeping-- knowing Qui-Gon would hear how the words meant love to him, meant more than love. Qui-Gon's mouth fastened at his throat, drawing his blood to dapple the surface of his skin. 

Obi-Wan strained up and ground down, fingers clenched tightly on Qui-Gon's forearm. He kissed every bit of Qui-Gon he could reach, muffled words and moans tumbling out from his lips between kisses as he explored the pads of the broad, blunt fingers and the tender veins inside his wrist. He licked and suckled Qui-Gon's fingers, alternating swipes of his tongue with stinging nips anywhere his teeth could find tender purchase on the man's skin. 

Qui-Gon's hips began to thrust, a hot, slow, rhythm that forced Obi-Wan to shift, relinquishing Qui-Gon's hand. Panting, he let his head fall back over Qui-Gon's shoulder and the man savaged his throat with small, hot kisses and bites, his hand now free to slide into Obi-Wan's shirt and explore, plucking at his nipples, finding the gold ring and twisting it gently. 

"Maaaaster," Obi-Wan whimpered again, and arched himself, struggling to push down his leggings. 

Qui-Gon released him and followed suit, precipitating an awkward, frantic jumble of scrabbling hands, strained limbs and uncooperative cloth. The struggle consumed an agonizingly long span before it culminated in Obi-Wan sinking down onto Qui-Gon's hot skin, velvet-skinned hardness pressing along his ass and against the small of his back. 

"We've nothing to ease the way." Qui-Gon's voice melted in his ear, hand reclaiming him firmly, sliding sleekly along the length of him. 

"I don't care." Obi-Wan spat in his palm, reaching behind to grasp Qui-Gon, and his master helped him, a little awkward, tentative. 

Obi-Wan remembered then, with inevitable surprise and growing chagrin-- for all his sensual meditations, Qui-Gon had not done this before. "I'm sorry; I should have trusted you long ago. This could have been perfect for you--" 

Qui-Gon nipped him sharply enough to silence his apology. "It is perfect because it is you," he said simply, voice rough. "Bend your head forward." 

He shifted, lifting Obi-Wan's hips, and Obi-Wan strained to assist. He somehow contorted himself until they had an angle that would suffice, and Qui-Gon's long, blunt shaft was finally positioned to enter his body. 

Qui-Gon steadied his erection in one hand, nipping at Obi-Wan's shoulder to signal readiness. Obi-Wan pressed back, ignoring the burn, impaling himself steadily, his breath hissing through his teeth as he accepted the pain, accepted it and let it fill him. He was shuddering all over by the time Qui-Gon was sheathed, his abused muscles tight and cramping, but his ass was cradled against Qui-Gon's body again, and his master filled him up, the delirious knowledge slowly transforming pain to triumph. 

Qui-Gon too was shuddering, long tremors running through his body, his lips moving against Obi-Wan's throat, repeating his name over and over, a silent prayer, his hand tight on Obi-Wan's flesh, but unmoving-- perhaps forgotten amidst the new sensations. 

Obi-Wan smiled, tenderness filling his soul. _For you._ They couldn't move properly in such a confined space, so he rocked his hips, clenching and releasing his muscles leisurely, stroking Qui-Gon with his body. Qui-Gon's gasp seared his skin, his hips pushing up though he could go no deeper. Obi-Wan purred and undulated again, squeeze and release-- and Qui-Gon remembered himself, trembling hand resuming, strokes ragged but gentle-- too gentle, but Obi-Wan did not correct him, accepting the moment in its bittersweet perfection. 

It would not take long, Obi-Wan knew; Qui-Gon's pulse already thundered against his back and his whole body quivered with the need to thrust. He prolonged it for Qui-Gon as much as he could, setting an uneven, slow pace, leaning his head back so that he could glimpse his master's expression out of the corner of his eye, seeing the soft mouth open as Qui-Gon labored for control and for air. 

Obi-Wan finally found a rhythm that suited-- a slow, infinitesimal rotation of hips, flex outward and then back, a long, hard squeeze and pull as he tightened and moved, which brought a ragged moan to Qui-Gon's lips. Five times. Ten. A dozen. Two. He could feel Qui-Gon's control evaporating and he speeded subtly, squeezing harder. A quick involuntary sthrust of hips pressed him painfully against the console, Qui-Gon's throttled shout muffled against his neck. The powerful liquid surge of Qui-Gon's orgasm deep inside him echoed itself in the hard, rhythmic tremors that shuddered through Qui-Gon's hand where it still clasped Obi-Wan's own erection. 

He subsided gently as Qui-Gon sank back, boneless, and managed to twist his neck enough to kiss Qui-Gon's throat, licking up a trickle of sweat that escaped from under the long silver-brown hair where it plastered to Qui-Gon's jaw. The moment stretched, perfect, and Obi-Wan did not stir, wishing only that it might never end, that he might always exist like this, open and filled, a vessel for Qui-Gon Jinn, his master surrounding him and filling him. 

But it could not last. "I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said softly with sudden dismay, and his hand began to stroke Obi-Wan rather tardily. 

"It's all right. I love you," Obi-Wan reassured him, hand covering Qui-Gon's over his erection. "And no, I don't mean 'him.' You." He nuzzled his cheek against Qui-Gon's throat, smelling the sharp masculine scent of fresh, unwashed sweat, imprinting it on his mind. 

Under the gentle tutelage of Obi-Wan's own fingers and palm, Qui-Gon's handling swiftly grew less tentative, more brisk and sure, the sweetest possible fulfillment of a young padawan's guilt-laden, lust-soaked dreams of teaching. 

Obi-Wan rocked into the clasp of their hands, moaning softly with the perfection of it, luxuriating in the scrape of the calluses on his master's thumb and forefinger from long hours spent with the lightsaber. So much like his own hand and not, Qui-Gon's hand felt broad and hard and still somewhat awkward, burning all the hotter for it. 

Obi-Wan too was rising faster than he wanted, energy coiling at the base of his spine, burning farther upwards with each perfect stroke until he heard his own hoarse moans cresting in his throat, and Qui-Gon's soft whisper of his name pushed him over the edge. Back arching helplessly, Obi-Wan spurted into Qui-Gon's palm, white-hot pleasure exploding from within, sizzling along the column of his spine to dazzle his closed eyes and squeeze tears from beneath his lashes. 

His master's body never fully left his throughout the length of their journey, firming and softening inside him, his hands exploring Obi-Wan in gentle worship. Their sore, chafed flesh protested but obeyed their minds and hearts as they loved, trying to make it enough to fill the gap of years, trying to bridge the unknown future. 

It took less than four hours to reach Altakan, and when they dropped out of hyperspace they were forced to separate, stiff bodies aching and strained as they hitched up their clothing and tried to achieve some rough semblance of presentability. 

"Force curse it," Obi-Wan muttered suddenly as they descended toward their landing pad-- a presence was waiting. A blush rose to his cheeks, burning there. "Do you feel that?" 

Qui-Gon chuckled, rueful. "I do." 

"Meddlesome little--" Obi-Wan swiped uselessly at his tousled hair. There was nothing to be done about either their deshabille or the overwhelming reek of sex. "We won't even have time to--" 

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice caressed his ear. "We are met; it is the will of the Force." 

They settled to the landing platform and the canopy popped; Obi-Wan groaned, levering himself up and out, his entire body protesting, both his feet asleep, making him stumble and nearly fall when he reached the ground. Qui-Gon followed, unaccustomed stiffness also rendering him awkward. 

Qui-Gon stopped when he reached the ground, glancing once across the landing pad to where Yoda waited unmoving, leaning on his stick, the wind catching his sparse white hair. 

To hell with propriety and Yoda's watching eyes, Obi-Wan decided. 

He slid into Qui-Gon's embrace, pressing against his chest and winding his arms around his old master tightly, as if he meant to merge them into one being. He lifted his chin, blindly seeking. Qui-Gon's mouth met his and they drank deeply of one another, tenderness and regret and resignation flowing through the kiss as their tongues met sweetly and glided together. Obi-Wan held on after they parted, trying to sink the memory into the core of his soul-- every ache and pain, every scent, every sharp angle of Qui-Gon's tall body, the savor of his master's taste on his lips. 

Obi-Wan could hear the soft, approaching tap of Yoda's stick by the time Qui-Gon pushed him back at last, gentle. "We will meet again," Qui-Gon promised, but his eyes were sad. 

"Yes, Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan stepped back. Qui-Gon tipped a curt nod to Yoda and turned away. Obi-Wan watched him mount the fuselage and vault into the cockpit they had shared. He retreated again when the ship's thrusters fired, standing next to Yoda on the platform as the fighter climbed into the sky, adjusted its attitude with ponderous grace, then darted for the horizon. 

"Welcome home, Obi-Wan," Yoda said softly. "Much have you to tell me, yes?" 

"Yes." Obi-Wan released his breath slowly, his shoulders sagging. "Let's go."

**************************

GLOSSARY

 _Arrêt à bon temps:_ Fencing term: A counter-attack that attempts to take advantage of an uncertain attack. (To stop in time). 

Ataru: Form IV lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

_Attaque:_ Fencing term: The initial offensive action in a fencing match. 

Chandar: Undeveloped world where the arranhar evolved and thrive in the wild. 

Chattan: Gaelic for "cat," this word is also a Scottish clan name that may be used as a first name. Qui-Gon's cat is heavily based on a Scottish Wildcat. For more information and photos, see scottishwildcats.co.uk. 

Cin Drallig: Jedi Battlemaster during the Clone Wars (and evidently for at least a short while before). See Wookieepedia. 

_Contre-parade:_ Fencing term: A parry made in the opposite line to the attack, coming around to the opposite side of the blade. 

_Dun Möch:_ A lightsaber battle technique consisting of distracting an opponent with taunts while fighting. Often employed by Sith. See Wookieepedia. 

Eekt Do'ha: A human padawan, lost on a mission, presumed dead. Now working against the Trade Federation under the auspices of former Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. 

_En garde:_ Fencing term: On guard, ready for attack. 

Jantak: A Bith Jedi Master, lost on a mission, presumed dead. Now working against the Trade Federation under the auspices of former Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.

Lisyl: Planet where Obi-Wan was chased by arranhar. 

Parry: Fencing term: To block an attack. 

Queen Ashea: King Tiran's wife and the mother of his children, joined to him in a loveless political marriage to promote peace. 

_Reprise:_ Fencing term: Renewal of an attack that missed or was parried. 

Soresu: Form III lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

_Touché:_ Fencing term: To score a touch or point with an attack. 

Vaapad: Form VII Lightsaber combat technique. See Wookieepedia. 

Velon: City on Xinune where Qui-Gon Jinn holds property (the estate known as the Palazzo, deeded to him by King Tiran) and resides between attacks on Dramacore. 

Yielding Parry: Fencing term: Deflecting the incoming attack by maintaining contact with the blade and changing the point of contact between the blades, moving from a position of poor leverage to one using the forte for strong leverage.


End file.
